Author's Note: This is a compilation of writings from 12/5 - 12/12, written while I was in the RCA field. I enjoyed writing them (except for "Noble", which woke me up at 05:30 and had to be written down immediately - what a dick), and I hope that you enjoy reading them.
*****
"Star"
Moonlight casts a gentle halo around your head, a small hint of your true nature, glowing in the evening. A million stars smile down upon you and each of them wishes you sweet dreams.
Lost among their shining whispers is my voice, telling you to sleep soundly and with a smile upon your face. For there is nothing in heaven or on earth that compares to the splendor that is you.
And I know that they hold a secret - for when the stars wish you sweet dreams, they really hope that in your slumber you would come and join them, for only then could they say that truly the brightest star was finally among them.
And by your mere presence, somehow, they all would shine just a little bit brighter.
-----
"Whisper"
I barely heard your voice, but the merest whisper was enough. Simply hearing you brought about the image of your smiling face, and though the day was cold my heart grew warm.
The simple sound of your voice is like the springtime, and all that is cold within me melts when you whisper.
-----
"Close My Eyes"
At night I lay down and close my eyes. I smile a silly little smile as I think of you doing the same.
At least we have that much in common.
-----
"Rock"
I will never tell you how I feel because the thought of what I could lose terrifies me. Cowardice makes the prospect of "never was" more appealing than "was" and my lips, like a sprung bear trap, clamp tightly shut when I'm around you.
I'm conflicted. Caught between the rock of fear and the hard place of what could be. If only I spoke up. If only.
-----
"You"
If I were a king, my kingdom would be grey without you.
If I were a rich man my money would be worthless if you weren't there.
If I were a strong man my arms would go weak without you.
But I am just a man. Alone.
Without you.
-----
"Writing"
Sometimes I don't know what I want to write. I start writing anyway to see what might happen. Sometimes, while doing this, you come into my thoughts. When this happens it doesn't matter what I write or if it's even good - I have a smile on my face.
-----
"Care"
Like a firefly in the summer air, you float through life, radiating a beauty and light that is unique and rare. Your bright eyes and childlike smile cannot be captured and put in a jar, for much like the firefly, if they were, they would die.
This writing doesn't make sense. It had a point and I completely lost it. But it's being written as I think of you, so I really don't care.
-----
"Noble"
A princess is loved for her royal birth
A queen because of her rule
*But I love you simply because of your worth
I love you for being you
(*Alternate version has the preceding two lines as follows: "But most women are not born of noble worth/We just love you for being you" - Just an FYI because I couldn't pick between which one I liked better. By the way, the flow of the rest of the poem changes in these next few verses)
No need for fineries, crowns, or jewels to
beautify your face
Your eyes and lips and
the smile you share will
quicken my heart's pace.
Don't cover your face with
a gossamer veil like
a princess of the East
Don't look down your nose
like a Western queen
expecting men to bow at
your feet.
Just be yourself - that much
will do
No need to act elite
For the simple loveliness
of you
will make anyone's heart skip
a beat
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Belated
You once said my words meant nothing
I recall, I am aware
But I believe you were
mistaken, my darling
my dear
So pardon my cliches and
my poorly thought rhyme -
I'd like to let me heart
gush
just one last
time
To remember those eyes
more blue than sky and sea
To remember those hips
their gentle sway, their
ease
Fountains of Wayne blaring in
the kitchen while you
bake
snickerdoodle cookies and
red velvet
cake
The lips stained bloody from
an evening of
wine
Those same lips pressed firmly,
fitted perfectly to
mine
Those hands clasped with my
hands always felt
so right
Hands I'll never hold again
after that March
night
How would they look with my
ring I'm never to know
For those hands that I love
were the ones
I
let go.
And for your birthday my love
I've a gift here for you
I let go of those hands
I'll let go of you
too.
Always I will love you
though it came to an
end
And I will always
always cherish you
my love
my
best friend
I recall, I am aware
But I believe you were
mistaken, my darling
my dear
So pardon my cliches and
my poorly thought rhyme -
I'd like to let me heart
gush
just one last
time
To remember those eyes
more blue than sky and sea
To remember those hips
their gentle sway, their
ease
Fountains of Wayne blaring in
the kitchen while you
bake
snickerdoodle cookies and
red velvet
cake
The lips stained bloody from
an evening of
wine
Those same lips pressed firmly,
fitted perfectly to
mine
Those hands clasped with my
hands always felt
so right
Hands I'll never hold again
after that March
night
How would they look with my
ring I'm never to know
For those hands that I love
were the ones
I
let go.
And for your birthday my love
I've a gift here for you
I let go of those hands
I'll let go of you
too.
Always I will love you
though it came to an
end
And I will always
always cherish you
my love
my
best friend
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Kindred
The firelight tickles her little bare toes and casts shadowy phantoms across her ivory visage. She smiles and laughs during deep conversation that I cannot hope,
in my feeble grasp of humanity,
to comprehend.
I am not a stupid man, and yet I feel a fool in her presence. I can't help but wonder if she even notices me. For who am I? No one. What am I? Just another suitor? No.
For a suitor would make the effort,
and I am frozen in time.
A time when I mattered to someone. Someone who is a phantom. A ghost. A memory. And in my frozen state I am lost to life. Lost to the possibility of a new love. But truth will show through, and I see now that I
am not lost.
Merely a coward.
Afraid to let go. Afraid to reach out to one who might be a kindred spirit, but one who
does not fear. She loves. Life.
And I am too afraid to let go and fall
in love
again.
in my feeble grasp of humanity,
to comprehend.
I am not a stupid man, and yet I feel a fool in her presence. I can't help but wonder if she even notices me. For who am I? No one. What am I? Just another suitor? No.
For a suitor would make the effort,
and I am frozen in time.
A time when I mattered to someone. Someone who is a phantom. A ghost. A memory. And in my frozen state I am lost to life. Lost to the possibility of a new love. But truth will show through, and I see now that I
am not lost.
Merely a coward.
Afraid to let go. Afraid to reach out to one who might be a kindred spirit, but one who
does not fear. She loves. Life.
And I am too afraid to let go and fall
in love
again.
Child of...
With the wonder of a child she sees the world, and
her bright smile makes angels feel glad
to be alive.
Through simple acts she shows the inherent kindness
that resides within her: a laugh at a bad joke, a pat on
the shoulder, tea.
While others may do such things, they fail to do so with
such aplomb - were He not her creator, God Himself might envy
her simple, loving manner and her clear love
of life and the world
in which she resides.
The sun, moon, and stars pale in comparison to
the splendor of her pure soul,
and the ease with which she carries
her beauty.
No painting or photograph can capture it,
and words, my words,
are simply
not
enough.
her bright smile makes angels feel glad
to be alive.
Through simple acts she shows the inherent kindness
that resides within her: a laugh at a bad joke, a pat on
the shoulder, tea.
While others may do such things, they fail to do so with
such aplomb - were He not her creator, God Himself might envy
her simple, loving manner and her clear love
of life and the world
in which she resides.
The sun, moon, and stars pale in comparison to
the splendor of her pure soul,
and the ease with which she carries
her beauty.
No painting or photograph can capture it,
and words, my words,
are simply
not
enough.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
8
Beatitudes in the Bible tell
of condition and result
Angels that bear the throne of Heaven
can't lift me up from this tumult
Immortals in forbidden Chinese cities
speaking of good luck
The gods in Japan just shake their heads
as I roil in the muck
Into the side pocket, there it went
the game ended before begun
Bring enough of the little bits
and together they create one
But unity seems a fleeting thing
when memory draws nigh
And I ruminate on should have beens
when eights come wandering by.
of condition and result
Angels that bear the throne of Heaven
can't lift me up from this tumult
Immortals in forbidden Chinese cities
speaking of good luck
The gods in Japan just shake their heads
as I roil in the muck
Into the side pocket, there it went
the game ended before begun
Bring enough of the little bits
and together they create one
But unity seems a fleeting thing
when memory draws nigh
And I ruminate on should have beens
when eights come wandering by.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Daughter's
A call after midnight
Ne'er does it bode well
Words, unexpected
Put a father's heart through hell
A smile unseen
Laughter never heard
Dreams of the future
Dashed with four words
A spring time born Lily
Sprouted 5th of May
Ten years were given
Then taken away
Oh to hold her, just once
Kiss her tender, sweet head
But nightmare words whispered...
Your daughter is dead
Ne'er does it bode well
Words, unexpected
Put a father's heart through hell
A smile unseen
Laughter never heard
Dreams of the future
Dashed with four words
A spring time born Lily
Sprouted 5th of May
Ten years were given
Then taken away
Oh to hold her, just once
Kiss her tender, sweet head
But nightmare words whispered...
Your daughter is dead
Fools, aloof, ramble.
At times I am a damned fool.
Looking into a face that isn't really there, into eyes that won't see me.
It doesn't help.
A fool isn't always aloof.
Say goodbye and walk away for good, without really walking away.
Holding on tightly.
What the hell am I going on about?
This is what happens when you just kind of start writing whatever pops into your head.
You remember lost love
And ramble.
Looking into a face that isn't really there, into eyes that won't see me.
It doesn't help.
A fool isn't always aloof.
Say goodbye and walk away for good, without really walking away.
Holding on tightly.
What the hell am I going on about?
This is what happens when you just kind of start writing whatever pops into your head.
You remember lost love
And ramble.
Friday, October 19, 2012
In the Beginning
Author's note: Jack and Alex are dead. They were SO depressing anyway. I thought a new series was in order. Originally, this wasn't intended as such. However, while penning the initial tale (yes, I DO still write them out by hand), a friend of mine added some lines. While his lines are nowhere to be found in my story, they did inspire me in the direction I would take this. Big thank you to Ryan B; when inspiration comes, you take it, and I appreciate that your writings helped me with this.
Enjoy.
**********
With cold fingers, the moonlight spread out upon the sparse landscape. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he prayed, hoping to be heard. He stared into the rocky abyss, the offered himself, his life. His only request, purpose.
His was lost when he fell. Now, with no gates to guard, he felt empty. Angry.
During the war it had all been confusion. He hadn’t realized until too late for which side he had swung his flaming sword. But ignorance was no excuse, and he had been cast out. Chaff, separated from the wheat.
There had been no forgiveness, no understanding. Only anger. Only retribution.
And in the absence of the Name, it was hell. Even on Earth.
“You could strike me down, here and now, Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Collapse these rocks and send me to oblivion, were it your will.
“But you must be keeping me here for something. My wings may be gone, but my heart is still true. I made a mistake.
“Please,” he begged, kneeling his tall frame upon the sharp, broken stones. “Tell me what I must do.”
As always, there was only silence.
He stood there for a time; how long he could not say. The wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, imagining that it blew softly upon the great wings he once had. The memory of them brought about phantoms pains, or so he thought, for something felt different this time. He was puzzled.
Then, carried on the wind, he heard a voice. It was soft at first, but became clear as his ears grew attuned. It sounded young, but there was pain, sorrow in the voice.
“...and twice now I should have been dead, so you must be keeping me around for something. I can’t accept that I’m here to be the whipping boy of fate. I won’t accept it.”
AZUZEL.
The name, spoken in a whisper sent pain coursing through the angel’s body, and where his wings had been there was now a burning. Something was very different.
YOU MUST PROTECT HIM, AZUZEL.
“Lord,” he said. “I don’t under...”
And then Azuzel heard footsteps running over broken stone, a gasp, and the sound of something plummeting from the edge of the cliff. He was confused, but only for a moment.
FLY.
Without hesitation, Azuzel launched himself from where he had been perched. He moved so quickly, and it had been so long, that his eyes began to water. The sharp, seering pain ebbed through his shoulders; his wings were being restored.
And there they were. Glowing in the moonlight. Strong, beautiful. Just like he remembered.
With a great thrust of his black wings, Azuzel propelled himself toward the form of what appeared to be a young boy. The Name had commanded him, and his will would be done.
He passed under the falling child, opened his wings and stopped himself just below him. He caught the boy, and matching his rate of descent, brought him down gently toward the ground.
When they touched down, he released the boy, who promptly threw up. Azuzel stood there silently, watching with a grin on his face.
Ah, the melodrama of youth, thought the angel. The boy could not have been much older than thirteen years. But if it was simple, youthful angst, then why had the Name commanded him?
When the boy had recovered he looked upon the angel. “Who are you,” he asked.
“I am Azuzel. I am here to protect you.”
The boy hocked, spat. He looked again at Azuzel and there was no fear in his eyes. “Protect me from what?”
Azuzel thought for a moment. He looked up to where the boy had been. “From yourself, perhaps.”
The boy’s gaze followed the angel’s and he snorted. “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something ran into me.”
The angel fixed his stare on the boy. “And yet you did not cry out?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think it would do much good.”
The sound that came from Azuzel briefly startled the boy, for when angels laugh, all of nature laughs. And Azuzel was laughing heartily. But his laughter stopped abruptly, for the Name was speaking to him.
YOU HAVE YOUR PURPOSE, AZUZEL. PROTECT HIM.
“Lord,” asked the angel. “Who am I protecting him from? Who pushed him?”
I LEAVE THAT TO YOU TO DISCOVER. BUT KEEP HIM, AND YOURSELF, SAFE. BE EVER VIGILANT, MY CHILD.
“Yes, Father.” Tears came to his eyes and he hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
His thoughts were interrupted. “Dude. Who the hell are you talking to?”
Azuzel looked at the boy.
“I said someone pushed me,” he continued. “They might still be up there.”
Azuzel squared himself up with the boy. He was small, compared to the angel’s seven-foot frame, but not scrawny. He looked like someone who could handle himself well, and there was something about his eyes. They seemed bright with a knowledge, or wisdom, that seemed well beyond the boy’s years.
“Whatever was there,” said Azuzel, looking up. “It’s gone now. Tell me your name.”
“Joseph,” replied the boy. “And I’m not worried. But someone or something just shoved me off a cliff.”
“I know.”
“Well, I kind of want to shove them back.”
The look in the boy’s eyes caused Azuzel to take a step back. He seemed familiar, like someone he had met long ago. Could it be?
“Turn the other cheek, child,” said the angel. “Now, where is your family, Joseph?”
The boy’s impatience was clear. “I live with my mother, so what? You’re wasting time. How do you even know their gone?”
The angel ignored his question. “And what is your mother’s name?”
Joseph looked furious. “Marianne, why? What’s your point,” he yelled.
“And your father?”
The question seemed to deflate the boys growing rage. He turned away, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know. I never met him,” he said. “The only time my mother speaks of him is when she’s telling me how wonderful he is, or how proud he’d be of me.”
“I see,” said Azuzel, the cogs of his mind finally clicking into place.
“But how can he be proud of me? He can he be so wonderful,” Joseph blurted. “If he’s never even met me?”
The boy’s words echoed off the cliff walls. Then silence. Not a murmur from the wind, nor the chirping of insects could be heard. It seemed that all the earth was still.
The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Azuzel finally broke the silence with a whisper. “Your father has met you. Of that I am certain.”
Joseph looked at him, confusion, frustration, and sadness clear in his eyes.
“Enough of this for now,” said Azuzel. “I have been ordered to protect you.”
With those words he stood up straight and stretched his wings. He made both of his hands into fists, the held them together. Slowly, he drew them apart. In the space between his hands flames formed. Not wild, random fires. It was a solid mass. And when his hands were as far apart as possible he opened his left hand and raised the right.
There, burning brightly, was a sword of pure fire. Joseph shielded his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he stared on in wonder.
Azuzel knelt before the boy, placing the sword point into the earth. “I pledge my sword, and my life, to keeping you safe.”
Joseph’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock, and giddiness. Then he smiled. “I think you and I will get along just fine,” he said. Then added, “And I have got to get me one of those.”
Azuzel looked up at the boy and grinned. He rose and opened his right hand. The sword flickered and disappeared.
“Cool,” said Joseph.
“We should go now,” said Azuzel. “I must take you home.”
“Sure,” said Joseph. “You can meet my mother. I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”
“Indeed.”
And with that, Azuzel scooped the boy up into his arms. He unfurled his wings, and with one quick beat, launched himself and the boy in the cool, starlit sky.
He didn’t know what would come next. But he had a purpose, once again, and for the time being that was enough.
Enjoy.
**********
With cold fingers, the moonlight spread out upon the sparse landscape. Standing on the edge of a cliff, he prayed, hoping to be heard. He stared into the rocky abyss, the offered himself, his life. His only request, purpose.
His was lost when he fell. Now, with no gates to guard, he felt empty. Angry.
During the war it had all been confusion. He hadn’t realized until too late for which side he had swung his flaming sword. But ignorance was no excuse, and he had been cast out. Chaff, separated from the wheat.
There had been no forgiveness, no understanding. Only anger. Only retribution.
And in the absence of the Name, it was hell. Even on Earth.
“You could strike me down, here and now, Lord,” he prayed aloud. “Collapse these rocks and send me to oblivion, were it your will.
“But you must be keeping me here for something. My wings may be gone, but my heart is still true. I made a mistake.
“Please,” he begged, kneeling his tall frame upon the sharp, broken stones. “Tell me what I must do.”
As always, there was only silence.
He stood there for a time; how long he could not say. The wind ruffled his hair and he closed his eyes, imagining that it blew softly upon the great wings he once had. The memory of them brought about phantoms pains, or so he thought, for something felt different this time. He was puzzled.
Then, carried on the wind, he heard a voice. It was soft at first, but became clear as his ears grew attuned. It sounded young, but there was pain, sorrow in the voice.
“...and twice now I should have been dead, so you must be keeping me around for something. I can’t accept that I’m here to be the whipping boy of fate. I won’t accept it.”
AZUZEL.
The name, spoken in a whisper sent pain coursing through the angel’s body, and where his wings had been there was now a burning. Something was very different.
YOU MUST PROTECT HIM, AZUZEL.
“Lord,” he said. “I don’t under...”
And then Azuzel heard footsteps running over broken stone, a gasp, and the sound of something plummeting from the edge of the cliff. He was confused, but only for a moment.
FLY.
Without hesitation, Azuzel launched himself from where he had been perched. He moved so quickly, and it had been so long, that his eyes began to water. The sharp, seering pain ebbed through his shoulders; his wings were being restored.
And there they were. Glowing in the moonlight. Strong, beautiful. Just like he remembered.
With a great thrust of his black wings, Azuzel propelled himself toward the form of what appeared to be a young boy. The Name had commanded him, and his will would be done.
He passed under the falling child, opened his wings and stopped himself just below him. He caught the boy, and matching his rate of descent, brought him down gently toward the ground.
When they touched down, he released the boy, who promptly threw up. Azuzel stood there silently, watching with a grin on his face.
Ah, the melodrama of youth, thought the angel. The boy could not have been much older than thirteen years. But if it was simple, youthful angst, then why had the Name commanded him?
When the boy had recovered he looked upon the angel. “Who are you,” he asked.
“I am Azuzel. I am here to protect you.”
The boy hocked, spat. He looked again at Azuzel and there was no fear in his eyes. “Protect me from what?”
Azuzel thought for a moment. He looked up to where the boy had been. “From yourself, perhaps.”
The boy’s gaze followed the angel’s and he snorted. “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re thinking. Something ran into me.”
The angel fixed his stare on the boy. “And yet you did not cry out?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think it would do much good.”
The sound that came from Azuzel briefly startled the boy, for when angels laugh, all of nature laughs. And Azuzel was laughing heartily. But his laughter stopped abruptly, for the Name was speaking to him.
YOU HAVE YOUR PURPOSE, AZUZEL. PROTECT HIM.
“Lord,” asked the angel. “Who am I protecting him from? Who pushed him?”
I LEAVE THAT TO YOU TO DISCOVER. BUT KEEP HIM, AND YOURSELF, SAFE. BE EVER VIGILANT, MY CHILD.
“Yes, Father.” Tears came to his eyes and he hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
His thoughts were interrupted. “Dude. Who the hell are you talking to?”
Azuzel looked at the boy.
“I said someone pushed me,” he continued. “They might still be up there.”
Azuzel squared himself up with the boy. He was small, compared to the angel’s seven-foot frame, but not scrawny. He looked like someone who could handle himself well, and there was something about his eyes. They seemed bright with a knowledge, or wisdom, that seemed well beyond the boy’s years.
“Whatever was there,” said Azuzel, looking up. “It’s gone now. Tell me your name.”
“Joseph,” replied the boy. “And I’m not worried. But someone or something just shoved me off a cliff.”
“I know.”
“Well, I kind of want to shove them back.”
The look in the boy’s eyes caused Azuzel to take a step back. He seemed familiar, like someone he had met long ago. Could it be?
“Turn the other cheek, child,” said the angel. “Now, where is your family, Joseph?”
The boy’s impatience was clear. “I live with my mother, so what? You’re wasting time. How do you even know their gone?”
The angel ignored his question. “And what is your mother’s name?”
Joseph looked furious. “Marianne, why? What’s your point,” he yelled.
“And your father?”
The question seemed to deflate the boys growing rage. He turned away, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know. I never met him,” he said. “The only time my mother speaks of him is when she’s telling me how wonderful he is, or how proud he’d be of me.”
“I see,” said Azuzel, the cogs of his mind finally clicking into place.
“But how can he be proud of me? He can he be so wonderful,” Joseph blurted. “If he’s never even met me?”
The boy’s words echoed off the cliff walls. Then silence. Not a murmur from the wind, nor the chirping of insects could be heard. It seemed that all the earth was still.
The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Azuzel finally broke the silence with a whisper. “Your father has met you. Of that I am certain.”
Joseph looked at him, confusion, frustration, and sadness clear in his eyes.
“Enough of this for now,” said Azuzel. “I have been ordered to protect you.”
With those words he stood up straight and stretched his wings. He made both of his hands into fists, the held them together. Slowly, he drew them apart. In the space between his hands flames formed. Not wild, random fires. It was a solid mass. And when his hands were as far apart as possible he opened his left hand and raised the right.
There, burning brightly, was a sword of pure fire. Joseph shielded his eyes, but only for a moment. Then he stared on in wonder.
Azuzel knelt before the boy, placing the sword point into the earth. “I pledge my sword, and my life, to keeping you safe.”
Joseph’s face was a mixture of confusion, shock, and giddiness. Then he smiled. “I think you and I will get along just fine,” he said. Then added, “And I have got to get me one of those.”
Azuzel looked up at the boy and grinned. He rose and opened his right hand. The sword flickered and disappeared.
“Cool,” said Joseph.
“We should go now,” said Azuzel. “I must take you home.”
“Sure,” said Joseph. “You can meet my mother. I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”
“Indeed.”
And with that, Azuzel scooped the boy up into his arms. He unfurled his wings, and with one quick beat, launched himself and the boy in the cool, starlit sky.
He didn’t know what would come next. But he had a purpose, once again, and for the time being that was enough.
Sol
You wake to the new day with a small stretch,
then seated there quietly
you smile. The sun's warmth caresses your soft cheek and
I am jealous of its light.
You are gentle as the cool breeze
which ruffles through your hair,
and like that breeze, you create change
where you go.
Your natural beauty is peerless.
Not the cactus blossom in spring, nor
the mountains, nor the blue sky itself compare
to the simple splendor of looking upon you.
No quiet, starlit evening or softly
murmuring stream can impart thoughts
of peace
so much as your lovely, little grin.
Coyotes sing to you at night in the hopes that
you will dream of them. The little grey birds burst
into song as you make your way, showing their love,
and wishing that you would never leave.
But it is morning now. As you rise, you slowly arch your back
and reach up toward the heavens from whence you must have been sent,
and I smile at the easy grace
of your movements.
Then as I smile I quietly laugh to myself. I
am jealous of the sun, for he is the first to greet you on this
new day, with a warm, gentle kiss and a whispered
"good morning."
then seated there quietly
you smile. The sun's warmth caresses your soft cheek and
I am jealous of its light.
You are gentle as the cool breeze
which ruffles through your hair,
and like that breeze, you create change
where you go.
Your natural beauty is peerless.
Not the cactus blossom in spring, nor
the mountains, nor the blue sky itself compare
to the simple splendor of looking upon you.
No quiet, starlit evening or softly
murmuring stream can impart thoughts
of peace
so much as your lovely, little grin.
Coyotes sing to you at night in the hopes that
you will dream of them. The little grey birds burst
into song as you make your way, showing their love,
and wishing that you would never leave.
But it is morning now. As you rise, you slowly arch your back
and reach up toward the heavens from whence you must have been sent,
and I smile at the easy grace
of your movements.
Then as I smile I quietly laugh to myself. I
am jealous of the sun, for he is the first to greet you on this
new day, with a warm, gentle kiss and a whispered
"good morning."
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Waking Up
The young woman awoke to an empty bed. She could smell the aroma of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen and hear the sound of something, no doubt delicious, being fried.
She gave a slow, cat-like stretch, yawned and made a soft squeal to greet the blue-grey light of the new day. She slid her hourglass form from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.
As she entered the dining room she smiled. The young man was their, setting places at the table while bacon and eggs cooked. The toaster popped and he made his way back into the kitchen. He did not greet her with "good morning," but with a cup of coffee (cream and sugar, just the way she liked it). He flashed her a big smile and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"What's the occasion," asked the young woman, the whisp of a smile on her beautiful face as she looked into his soft, brown eyes.
He shrugged and grinned. "I had a good dream," he said.
The young woman looked at the scene; flowers on the dining room table, places set for two with neatly folded napkins. Breakfast was nearly ready.
"It must have been a great one. What was it about?"
The young man paused for a moment, as he was pouring a cup of coffee for himself (black, as usual), to think for a bit. Then he gave a soft chuckle and said, "Well, you left me."
The young woman had to keep from spraying the table with coffee. She placed the mug on the table. "And this was a good dream?" She was quite perplexed which made the young man laugh aloud.
"What's so funny about that?"
The young man calmed himself. He looked at her face and then let his eyes roam over every inch of her. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes. He grinned and said, "Tiger, you came back."
He made his way to the kitchen and quickly returned with two plates. He placed one before her and one in front of himself.
"Calm down," he said in a soft voice. "Eat up and I'll tell you all about it."
The young woman eyed him, puzzled. "You're weird sometimes, ya know that?"
"And that's part of the reason you love me," replied the young man. "Now listen."
"I'm not entirely sure why it happened. We didn't have a fight. But one day you asked if maybe we should break-up. I was so caught off guard, assumed that since you asked it must be what you wanted, that for the first time in all of our years together, I agreed. We spoke of it for awhile, had a last hug and kiss, and then we were done."
"As soon as I walked out of the door and began working my way down the stairs I felt wrong about the whole thing. I knew that it couldn't end like that. I had to do something to get you back."
"You came by the next day to get your things. While you were here I told you how I felt, told you that I didn't want it to end. You just looked at me and said no.
"Your stubborness was always something I loved about, even when it drove me nuts, or in this case, broke my heart. So I let you have your say and then tol you that I wouldn't give up; you would be the last."
"I don't think you believed me."
"After that day I would call you about once a week, trying my best to tell you how much I loved you and why, even when we had our problems, you and I would still work together. Again, you were set in your decision."
"I didn't know what to do. At one point I even gave you back the silly engagement ring that you were so fond of throwing at me when we had a spat. From what I heard, you didn't much like that. I was unsure of how to proceed, but I knew that love would find a way."
"Eventually I sort of banished myself; I moved out West. You needed me at my best. I needed to gather myself, become the man you always thought I should be. The man I knew I wanted to be."
"It wasn't an easy thing for me to do. I had grown so used to my ways and changing them, growing, would be a struggle. Plus, in order for this growth to happen I needed to be far away from someone else that I loved dearly, which was painful, to say the least."
"Thankfully, I had some good friends that let me stay with them until I got on my feet. If not for them, well, I'm not sure how I would have managed."
"This taught me a lesson that I needed to learn. No matter how much you want to do it on your own, it's okay to ask for help sometimes. I had always been good at asking people to do things for me under the guise of asking for help, but that was just laziness. Asking for real help was frightening because the outcome really mattered."
"But I was glad I did. It was one more step toward growing up and becoming a man, not being afraid to ask for help."
"I got a great paying job, working in the medical equipment field. The hours were long but it eventually allowed me to get my own place. That was a good feeling, but I hated the job, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Eventually, I sort of fell apart. I left the job, which wasn't a mistake. Leaving without something else lined up was."
"But even in this I learned a lesson. It really does matter that what you do with your life is fulfilling, and that no amount of money is worth compromising on that. When you do, you compromise on yourself."
"Anyway, for a few months I reverted to my old ways. My folks kept helping me out, but I hated that feeling. Eventually I left my apartment, even though it cost me quite a bit. At least this way I wouldn't have to keep asking my parents for help. My friends let me move back in, and again, I was grateful for their help. Good friends are worth their weight in gold."
"I did a few different jobs that were awful. One was at a phone polling company where I interrupted peoples' dinner to ask them about politics, which I'm sure they really loved me for. Another was working for a maid service. That didn't go well."
"While I worked at those places I kept searching for something that would be a good fit for me. Eventually I found something that I loved and I stayed in that field. I didn't rent a place again, opting to just live in nature while I saved money and paid down my debts. A great friend let me use his address to keep things a bit more legal."
"I continued to work and save, during which time I heard that you had met someone. I heard that he was a great guy but that he had one major flaw. He didn't ever want children."
"I knew how much you wanted children. I thought of all the times we had talked of having them. 'Do it for the children,' remember that?"
Well, I knew that you would never compromise on that, and thought about how beautiful our children would be. I would go to bed at night, gazing up at the stars, and fall asleep thinking of how lovely and smart our children would be. I kept positive and hopeful, no matter what."
"This went on for more than a year."
"Then one day, you called. You asked me how I was doing. I told you I was doing alright for myself. We made small talk. Then you said the words I had been waiting to hear. 'I miss you.' I smiled and tears came to my eyes."
"'Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you,' I said."
"You asked me to come. I almost dreaded what I knew my answer would be."
"'Home is here now,' I said. 'It's you that needs to come home.'"
"I had bought some land and built a small house. I had a little garden. But the house was designed to be added onto. I could build you a workshop or anything else you might need."
"I told you that I knew how frightening it may seem, but that you need not worry. I would always love you and that if you ever wanted to see family or friends, well, plane tickets were pretty cheap."
"You scared me for awhile, said you needed to think about it. Because of work I wouldn't hear from you for about a week. I can tell you, it was a tough week."
"When my shift ended though, I came back to the most wonderful message. You said yes."
"We married soon after and had a masquerade reception, just like we had always talked about. Then we rented a truck and moved your things out here."
"The first night we spent in the house was wonderful. We were together again, and this time we had done it right. I held you close to me, ran my fingers through your soft hair, and rested my hand just where you always liked it."
"I whispered, 'I love you,' and fell asleep with you in my arms once again."
The young man took a sip of his now cold coffee.
"I woke up, afraid that you wouldn't be there," he said. "For awhile, I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes."
"But I am here," said the young woman.
The young man smiled at her. He placed one hand on hers, the other on her stomach.
"You both are," he said. "And that has taught me another lesson."
"And what lesson is that?"
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That you are worth waiting for. And that you are better than any dream."
The young man leaned in and gave his wife a gentle kiss. "I'll get started on these dishes," he said.
And he did.
--
Sent from my Android phone with K-9 Mail. Please excuse my brevity.
She gave a slow, cat-like stretch, yawned and made a soft squeal to greet the blue-grey light of the new day. She slid her hourglass form from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.
As she entered the dining room she smiled. The young man was their, setting places at the table while bacon and eggs cooked. The toaster popped and he made his way back into the kitchen. He did not greet her with "good morning," but with a cup of coffee (cream and sugar, just the way she liked it). He flashed her a big smile and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"What's the occasion," asked the young woman, the whisp of a smile on her beautiful face as she looked into his soft, brown eyes.
He shrugged and grinned. "I had a good dream," he said.
The young woman looked at the scene; flowers on the dining room table, places set for two with neatly folded napkins. Breakfast was nearly ready.
"It must have been a great one. What was it about?"
The young man paused for a moment, as he was pouring a cup of coffee for himself (black, as usual), to think for a bit. Then he gave a soft chuckle and said, "Well, you left me."
The young woman had to keep from spraying the table with coffee. She placed the mug on the table. "And this was a good dream?" She was quite perplexed which made the young man laugh aloud.
"What's so funny about that?"
The young man calmed himself. He looked at her face and then let his eyes roam over every inch of her. Then he returned his gaze to her eyes. He grinned and said, "Tiger, you came back."
He made his way to the kitchen and quickly returned with two plates. He placed one before her and one in front of himself.
"Calm down," he said in a soft voice. "Eat up and I'll tell you all about it."
The young woman eyed him, puzzled. "You're weird sometimes, ya know that?"
"And that's part of the reason you love me," replied the young man. "Now listen."
"I'm not entirely sure why it happened. We didn't have a fight. But one day you asked if maybe we should break-up. I was so caught off guard, assumed that since you asked it must be what you wanted, that for the first time in all of our years together, I agreed. We spoke of it for awhile, had a last hug and kiss, and then we were done."
"As soon as I walked out of the door and began working my way down the stairs I felt wrong about the whole thing. I knew that it couldn't end like that. I had to do something to get you back."
"You came by the next day to get your things. While you were here I told you how I felt, told you that I didn't want it to end. You just looked at me and said no.
"Your stubborness was always something I loved about, even when it drove me nuts, or in this case, broke my heart. So I let you have your say and then tol you that I wouldn't give up; you would be the last."
"I don't think you believed me."
"After that day I would call you about once a week, trying my best to tell you how much I loved you and why, even when we had our problems, you and I would still work together. Again, you were set in your decision."
"I didn't know what to do. At one point I even gave you back the silly engagement ring that you were so fond of throwing at me when we had a spat. From what I heard, you didn't much like that. I was unsure of how to proceed, but I knew that love would find a way."
"Eventually I sort of banished myself; I moved out West. You needed me at my best. I needed to gather myself, become the man you always thought I should be. The man I knew I wanted to be."
"It wasn't an easy thing for me to do. I had grown so used to my ways and changing them, growing, would be a struggle. Plus, in order for this growth to happen I needed to be far away from someone else that I loved dearly, which was painful, to say the least."
"Thankfully, I had some good friends that let me stay with them until I got on my feet. If not for them, well, I'm not sure how I would have managed."
"This taught me a lesson that I needed to learn. No matter how much you want to do it on your own, it's okay to ask for help sometimes. I had always been good at asking people to do things for me under the guise of asking for help, but that was just laziness. Asking for real help was frightening because the outcome really mattered."
"But I was glad I did. It was one more step toward growing up and becoming a man, not being afraid to ask for help."
"I got a great paying job, working in the medical equipment field. The hours were long but it eventually allowed me to get my own place. That was a good feeling, but I hated the job, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Eventually, I sort of fell apart. I left the job, which wasn't a mistake. Leaving without something else lined up was."
"But even in this I learned a lesson. It really does matter that what you do with your life is fulfilling, and that no amount of money is worth compromising on that. When you do, you compromise on yourself."
"Anyway, for a few months I reverted to my old ways. My folks kept helping me out, but I hated that feeling. Eventually I left my apartment, even though it cost me quite a bit. At least this way I wouldn't have to keep asking my parents for help. My friends let me move back in, and again, I was grateful for their help. Good friends are worth their weight in gold."
"I did a few different jobs that were awful. One was at a phone polling company where I interrupted peoples' dinner to ask them about politics, which I'm sure they really loved me for. Another was working for a maid service. That didn't go well."
"While I worked at those places I kept searching for something that would be a good fit for me. Eventually I found something that I loved and I stayed in that field. I didn't rent a place again, opting to just live in nature while I saved money and paid down my debts. A great friend let me use his address to keep things a bit more legal."
"I continued to work and save, during which time I heard that you had met someone. I heard that he was a great guy but that he had one major flaw. He didn't ever want children."
"I knew how much you wanted children. I thought of all the times we had talked of having them. 'Do it for the children,' remember that?"
Well, I knew that you would never compromise on that, and thought about how beautiful our children would be. I would go to bed at night, gazing up at the stars, and fall asleep thinking of how lovely and smart our children would be. I kept positive and hopeful, no matter what."
"This went on for more than a year."
"Then one day, you called. You asked me how I was doing. I told you I was doing alright for myself. We made small talk. Then you said the words I had been waiting to hear. 'I miss you.' I smiled and tears came to my eyes."
"'Not a day has gone by that I haven't missed you,' I said."
"You asked me to come. I almost dreaded what I knew my answer would be."
"'Home is here now,' I said. 'It's you that needs to come home.'"
"I had bought some land and built a small house. I had a little garden. But the house was designed to be added onto. I could build you a workshop or anything else you might need."
"I told you that I knew how frightening it may seem, but that you need not worry. I would always love you and that if you ever wanted to see family or friends, well, plane tickets were pretty cheap."
"You scared me for awhile, said you needed to think about it. Because of work I wouldn't hear from you for about a week. I can tell you, it was a tough week."
"When my shift ended though, I came back to the most wonderful message. You said yes."
"We married soon after and had a masquerade reception, just like we had always talked about. Then we rented a truck and moved your things out here."
"The first night we spent in the house was wonderful. We were together again, and this time we had done it right. I held you close to me, ran my fingers through your soft hair, and rested my hand just where you always liked it."
"I whispered, 'I love you,' and fell asleep with you in my arms once again."
The young man took a sip of his now cold coffee.
"I woke up, afraid that you wouldn't be there," he said. "For awhile, I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes."
"But I am here," said the young woman.
The young man smiled at her. He placed one hand on hers, the other on her stomach.
"You both are," he said. "And that has taught me another lesson."
"And what lesson is that?"
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "That you are worth waiting for. And that you are better than any dream."
The young man leaned in and gave his wife a gentle kiss. "I'll get started on these dishes," he said.
And he did.
--
Sent from my Android phone with K-9 Mail. Please excuse my brevity.
The Rusted Blade
"So do you think you can manage it?"
"I may be a bit rusty, but my blade is still sharp."
*****
Jack walked into the smoky bar and scanned the room. His mark was easy to spot, seated with half a dozen men, drinking and laughing. No doubt the man was plenty drunk.
Jack went over to him and struck up a conversation.
"Excuse me," he asked. "Do you happen to have the time?"
"Of course," said the man. "It's about 12:15."
Jack thanked the man, then sat down next to him. He ordered his usual drink, a bloody mary with a splash of pickle juice. He sipped it, enjoying the hint of spice mingling with dill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe, an old corncob that he had carved when he was just a kid. He packed it with tobacco, took out a book of matches.
He struck the match. Its light was like a small nova in the dark bar. His vision went white for a moment and he thought of his earlier years. He had been reckless back then. Time had a way of tempering even the most stubborn of steels, and Jack was much harder now. Much more refined. Sharp.
"You seem to be lost in thought," came a voice. It was the man. He was looking at Jack with a smile on his face. "Remembering an old girlfriend, perhaps?"
Jack grinned. "No," he said. "Just thinking about how much things change with time."
"I see. When I was a boy in my homeland, we used to run and play on the streets. We used to run naked in the rain to clean off," said the man. His face beamed at the thought, but then grew sad. "Now though, there is too much violence. I hate to admit it sometimes, but people like me don't help the situation."
"How do you mean," asked Jack, taking another sip of his drink.
"I used to just be a kid trying to have fun, with dreams of being president or maybe a spaceman. But things change," he said. "Now I run a gang with its fingers in just about everything."
The man paused and took a drink. "I wanted to be one of the good guys," he continued. "Now I'm one of the worst."
Jack sat quietly, drinking. He looked at the man with pity in his eyes. Jack was a good actor.
"So much for dreams," said the man.
Jack gave a slow, understanding nod of his head. He drained the rest of bloody mary and placed the empty glass on the table. He tapped his pipe clean and put it away, leaving his hand in his pocket.
Standing up, he placed his other hand on the man's shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. The man looked up and gave him a sad smile.
"So much for dreams," said Jack.
With that, his other hand came out of his pocket and he began to walk away. The movement was quick as he silently thrust the blade of his knife into the man's neck, severing his jugular and vocal chords in one swipe. He quickly extracted the blade, wiping it clean on the man's shoulder then pocketing it while continuing to walk away.
The man slumped over onto the bar. It would be mere moments before one of his party noticed that their friend wasn't passed out drunk. Moments before they would notice the blood.
All Jack needed was moments.
"So much for dreams," Jack said as he exited the bar and headed off into the darkness.
It had been years since his last consultation. He was a bit rusty, but he was still quite sharp.
"I may be a bit rusty, but my blade is still sharp."
*****
Jack walked into the smoky bar and scanned the room. His mark was easy to spot, seated with half a dozen men, drinking and laughing. No doubt the man was plenty drunk.
Jack went over to him and struck up a conversation.
"Excuse me," he asked. "Do you happen to have the time?"
"Of course," said the man. "It's about 12:15."
Jack thanked the man, then sat down next to him. He ordered his usual drink, a bloody mary with a splash of pickle juice. He sipped it, enjoying the hint of spice mingling with dill. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe, an old corncob that he had carved when he was just a kid. He packed it with tobacco, took out a book of matches.
He struck the match. Its light was like a small nova in the dark bar. His vision went white for a moment and he thought of his earlier years. He had been reckless back then. Time had a way of tempering even the most stubborn of steels, and Jack was much harder now. Much more refined. Sharp.
"You seem to be lost in thought," came a voice. It was the man. He was looking at Jack with a smile on his face. "Remembering an old girlfriend, perhaps?"
Jack grinned. "No," he said. "Just thinking about how much things change with time."
"I see. When I was a boy in my homeland, we used to run and play on the streets. We used to run naked in the rain to clean off," said the man. His face beamed at the thought, but then grew sad. "Now though, there is too much violence. I hate to admit it sometimes, but people like me don't help the situation."
"How do you mean," asked Jack, taking another sip of his drink.
"I used to just be a kid trying to have fun, with dreams of being president or maybe a spaceman. But things change," he said. "Now I run a gang with its fingers in just about everything."
The man paused and took a drink. "I wanted to be one of the good guys," he continued. "Now I'm one of the worst."
Jack sat quietly, drinking. He looked at the man with pity in his eyes. Jack was a good actor.
"So much for dreams," said the man.
Jack gave a slow, understanding nod of his head. He drained the rest of bloody mary and placed the empty glass on the table. He tapped his pipe clean and put it away, leaving his hand in his pocket.
Standing up, he placed his other hand on the man's shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. The man looked up and gave him a sad smile.
"So much for dreams," said Jack.
With that, his other hand came out of his pocket and he began to walk away. The movement was quick as he silently thrust the blade of his knife into the man's neck, severing his jugular and vocal chords in one swipe. He quickly extracted the blade, wiping it clean on the man's shoulder then pocketing it while continuing to walk away.
The man slumped over onto the bar. It would be mere moments before one of his party noticed that their friend wasn't passed out drunk. Moments before they would notice the blood.
All Jack needed was moments.
"So much for dreams," Jack said as he exited the bar and headed off into the darkness.
It had been years since his last consultation. He was a bit rusty, but he was still quite sharp.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Dreams in the Night
The sun sets on another day and I look forward to sleep. Will I get to see you again? As the night sky fades from my vision I smile at the thought.
When my eyes open up the world is changed. The colors aren't quite as bright, like it is an old Hollywood picture; filmed in Technicolor, I suppose.
I'm dressed in a grey three-piece suit, wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase as I stroll down the street. I'm not sure where I'm heading off to, but I hope to see you there. I round a corner and...
...there you are. Your hair looks perfect, as always, and you're wearing a vintage stewardess outfit, navy blue. I like how you've accessorized with the white gloves. Very sheik.
We have both come to a stop and our faces light up as we just gaze at each other. And that is when time gets a little funny.
The world begins to change. Colors get more vivid. The styles of clothing change, and hairstyles,too. I see automobiles going through changes as well, and time has very clearly jumped ahead to the present, or something near it.
As we walk toward each other, prepared to embrace, each steps seems to take us farther away. Time begins to flux once again. It is as though time itself is what is keeping us apart.
Then I wake up.
My immediate feeling is sadness; I've lost you once again. But then a new thought comes to mind and I begin to smile.
It is only a matter of time before we meet again. A matter of time before I hold you close to me and kiss your sweet lips.
As the morning sun begins its ascent and brightens the new day I am filled with a sense of joy and calm. I am one day closer to spending the rest of my life with you. It is something to dream about. It is something worth waiting for.
When my eyes open up the world is changed. The colors aren't quite as bright, like it is an old Hollywood picture; filmed in Technicolor, I suppose.
I'm dressed in a grey three-piece suit, wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase as I stroll down the street. I'm not sure where I'm heading off to, but I hope to see you there. I round a corner and...
...there you are. Your hair looks perfect, as always, and you're wearing a vintage stewardess outfit, navy blue. I like how you've accessorized with the white gloves. Very sheik.
We have both come to a stop and our faces light up as we just gaze at each other. And that is when time gets a little funny.
The world begins to change. Colors get more vivid. The styles of clothing change, and hairstyles,too. I see automobiles going through changes as well, and time has very clearly jumped ahead to the present, or something near it.
As we walk toward each other, prepared to embrace, each steps seems to take us farther away. Time begins to flux once again. It is as though time itself is what is keeping us apart.
Then I wake up.
My immediate feeling is sadness; I've lost you once again. But then a new thought comes to mind and I begin to smile.
It is only a matter of time before we meet again. A matter of time before I hold you close to me and kiss your sweet lips.
As the morning sun begins its ascent and brightens the new day I am filled with a sense of joy and calm. I am one day closer to spending the rest of my life with you. It is something to dream about. It is something worth waiting for.
Not the Real Ending
Author's note: I started writing this really late one night. While I do have plans to expand upon it and make an actual fairytale of this, the ending that I tacked on made me laugh. You'll see it coming from a mile away (or you could just look down, but that's cheating), but so what? Sometimes life just needs a little silliness.
*****
One morning in the Land of Fairy a boy woke up. While this would not seem terribly remarkable, it was, because we all know that the Land of Fairy doesn't exist. The boy knew this too, so you can imagine his astonishment.
Fairy is a bright, vivid land. The green grass, regardless of which side of the fence it is on, is greener. The sky is bluer, and the sun is brighter and shines with a warmth that feels like a hug from the person you love the most. This was how the boy knew it to be the Land of Fairy.
The boy squinted up at the sun. He had be laying in the grass near a tall old oak whose leaves were shining like emeralds. The grass felt cool and soft.
The boy stood up, taking in a breath of the freshest, cleanest air he had ever breathed. A warm smile spread across his face and he thought, "I wish I could stay here forever."
Then a dragon swooped down and gobbled him up, and the boy got his wish.
The End
*****
One morning in the Land of Fairy a boy woke up. While this would not seem terribly remarkable, it was, because we all know that the Land of Fairy doesn't exist. The boy knew this too, so you can imagine his astonishment.
Fairy is a bright, vivid land. The green grass, regardless of which side of the fence it is on, is greener. The sky is bluer, and the sun is brighter and shines with a warmth that feels like a hug from the person you love the most. This was how the boy knew it to be the Land of Fairy.
The boy squinted up at the sun. He had be laying in the grass near a tall old oak whose leaves were shining like emeralds. The grass felt cool and soft.
The boy stood up, taking in a breath of the freshest, cleanest air he had ever breathed. A warm smile spread across his face and he thought, "I wish I could stay here forever."
Then a dragon swooped down and gobbled him up, and the boy got his wish.
The End
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Bone and Blade
Author's note: I want to turn this into a short film. Just saying.
*****
The clash of steel echoed through the Valley of Souls. In the blazing afternoon sunlight a battle of two champions was being waged. A battle that would settle a feud between two ancient, royal houses. A feud so old that no one even remembered what it was about. And yet, still they battled.
Sir Alrec hammered another blow into the shield of his nemesis, Sir Kale. It jolted his arm but splintered the tower shield. His arm, numbed by the impact, gave his foe time to recover from the staggering strike.
Kale cast aside the pieces of his now useless shield. He gripped his bastard sword firmly with both hands. Swinging with all of the might he could summon he swept his blade horizontally toward his enemy's sword arm.
The blade tore through Sir Alrec's armor. It bit into his arm, slicing flesh and tendons. It smashed into the bone and...stopped.
Alrec threw down his sword and screamed in agony as Kale yanked on the stuck blade. The blade would not move.
"In the name of all holy things, man," yelled Alrec. "Pull the cursed thing out!"
Kale pulled again, but to no effect. "I'm trying," he shouted.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's leg, gripped the sword with both hands and pulled. His teeth clenched, muscles strained. Finally he went flying and crashed to the ground.
"Ah ha! I..." Sir Kale looked at the empty gauntlets, then looked to Sir Alrec. He stood there still, the sword lodged firmly in his arm.
Alrec flipped up his visor with his good hand. He stood, hands on hips, the sword following his movements like it was part of him. He looked quite angry.
"Get this blade out of my arm, Kale," he growled.
Kale shrugged his shoulders. "I'm trying," he whined. "This has never happened before."
"Well it would take an idiot like you to manage it," said Alrec. He swung the arm up and down. "I mean, just look at this! I'd rather lose the whole arm than have your stupid blade lodged in it! I mean honestly, who taught you how to fight?"
"It was Sir..."
"Sir Swings Like a Sissy," Alrec interrupted.
Kale fumed. "Don't talk about my teacher like that. Sir Tristan was a great man."
"Ha," spat Alrec. "Great at teaching you how to be an awful knight. If I'd have known you were so inept I would never have agreed to this duel. I can't afford to walk around with a sword stuck in my arm! What will the ladies say?"
"I'm sorry." Kale held up his hands in a gesture of calm. He stepped back toward Alrec. "Here, let me try again," he said, reaching for the sword.
"Curse it, man," said Alrec. "Your gauntlets and chain gloves."
"What of them," asked Kale, looking them over.
Alrec rolled his eyes. "Take them off, you dolt. So you can get a proper grip!"
"Oh," said Kale sheepishly. With hanging head, he slowly pulled off the gauntlets and gloves. He felt like a scolded child.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's thigh once again. Alrec firmed his footing. "Pull, you pansy!"
Pushing with his leg, Kale once again tried to extract the sword. He groaned with the exertion. Sweat beaded upon his brow. Still, the sword would not move.
"You're pathetic," spat Alrec. "You're a weakling."
Kale stayed silent but stepped forward and placed his other foot onto the man's thigh. With both legs and arms he strained to pull out the sword.
"This is ridiculous," Alrec scolded. "It should have cut through the bloody bone by now."
Kale hopped off of his foe's leg, panting. "I'm...sorry," he said, resting his hands on his shaking thighs. "It may...have been a bit...dull."
"DULL!" Alrec was positively roaring now. "What kind of knight goes into a duel with a dull sword? You are the most useless, incompetent fool of a knight I have ever met. It's a wonder your house is still in existence!"
Alrec shoved Sir Kale with the bloody sword arm. He stumbled and fell. Standing over is prostrate form, Alrec continued to hurl insults.
"You're lower than a worm. You manure sucking slime!"
Kale slowly got to his feet. He'd had enough of this. Striding forward he reached out to Alrec, who continued his tirade.
"A dull blade, he says! No self respecting knight goes into battle with a dull..."
His words were cut off by the hand wrapped tightly around his jaw. He looked on, bewildered, into Sir Kale's blank face.
"I'm sorry about the sword," said Kale, calmly. "But you'll be pleased to know that I keep my dagger quite sharp."
With that he plunged the blade, up to the hilt, in Sir Alrec's forehead. The knight's eyes crossed as he looked up at the blade. He tried to say something, then toppled backwards to the ground. The fall sent the sword flopping out of Alrec's arm.
"Ah," said Kale. He picked up the sword and placed it in its scabbard. "I must have loosened it up."
He then reached down and took hold of the dagger. It didn't budge.
Sir Kale groaned. "Oh, hells."
*****
The clash of steel echoed through the Valley of Souls. In the blazing afternoon sunlight a battle of two champions was being waged. A battle that would settle a feud between two ancient, royal houses. A feud so old that no one even remembered what it was about. And yet, still they battled.
Sir Alrec hammered another blow into the shield of his nemesis, Sir Kale. It jolted his arm but splintered the tower shield. His arm, numbed by the impact, gave his foe time to recover from the staggering strike.
Kale cast aside the pieces of his now useless shield. He gripped his bastard sword firmly with both hands. Swinging with all of the might he could summon he swept his blade horizontally toward his enemy's sword arm.
The blade tore through Sir Alrec's armor. It bit into his arm, slicing flesh and tendons. It smashed into the bone and...stopped.
Alrec threw down his sword and screamed in agony as Kale yanked on the stuck blade. The blade would not move.
"In the name of all holy things, man," yelled Alrec. "Pull the cursed thing out!"
Kale pulled again, but to no effect. "I'm trying," he shouted.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's leg, gripped the sword with both hands and pulled. His teeth clenched, muscles strained. Finally he went flying and crashed to the ground.
"Ah ha! I..." Sir Kale looked at the empty gauntlets, then looked to Sir Alrec. He stood there still, the sword lodged firmly in his arm.
Alrec flipped up his visor with his good hand. He stood, hands on hips, the sword following his movements like it was part of him. He looked quite angry.
"Get this blade out of my arm, Kale," he growled.
Kale shrugged his shoulders. "I'm trying," he whined. "This has never happened before."
"Well it would take an idiot like you to manage it," said Alrec. He swung the arm up and down. "I mean, just look at this! I'd rather lose the whole arm than have your stupid blade lodged in it! I mean honestly, who taught you how to fight?"
"It was Sir..."
"Sir Swings Like a Sissy," Alrec interrupted.
Kale fumed. "Don't talk about my teacher like that. Sir Tristan was a great man."
"Ha," spat Alrec. "Great at teaching you how to be an awful knight. If I'd have known you were so inept I would never have agreed to this duel. I can't afford to walk around with a sword stuck in my arm! What will the ladies say?"
"I'm sorry." Kale held up his hands in a gesture of calm. He stepped back toward Alrec. "Here, let me try again," he said, reaching for the sword.
"Curse it, man," said Alrec. "Your gauntlets and chain gloves."
"What of them," asked Kale, looking them over.
Alrec rolled his eyes. "Take them off, you dolt. So you can get a proper grip!"
"Oh," said Kale sheepishly. With hanging head, he slowly pulled off the gauntlets and gloves. He felt like a scolded child.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's thigh once again. Alrec firmed his footing. "Pull, you pansy!"
Pushing with his leg, Kale once again tried to extract the sword. He groaned with the exertion. Sweat beaded upon his brow. Still, the sword would not move.
"You're pathetic," spat Alrec. "You're a weakling."
Kale stayed silent but stepped forward and placed his other foot onto the man's thigh. With both legs and arms he strained to pull out the sword.
"This is ridiculous," Alrec scolded. "It should have cut through the bloody bone by now."
Kale hopped off of his foe's leg, panting. "I'm...sorry," he said, resting his hands on his shaking thighs. "It may...have been a bit...dull."
"DULL!" Alrec was positively roaring now. "What kind of knight goes into a duel with a dull sword? You are the most useless, incompetent fool of a knight I have ever met. It's a wonder your house is still in existence!"
Alrec shoved Sir Kale with the bloody sword arm. He stumbled and fell. Standing over is prostrate form, Alrec continued to hurl insults.
"You're lower than a worm. You manure sucking slime!"
Kale slowly got to his feet. He'd had enough of this. Striding forward he reached out to Alrec, who continued his tirade.
"A dull blade, he says! No self respecting knight goes into battle with a dull..."
His words were cut off by the hand wrapped tightly around his jaw. He looked on, bewildered, into Sir Kale's blank face.
"I'm sorry about the sword," said Kale, calmly. "But you'll be pleased to know that I keep my dagger quite sharp."
With that he plunged the blade, up to the hilt, in Sir Alrec's forehead. The knight's eyes crossed as he looked up at the blade. He tried to say something, then toppled backwards to the ground. The fall sent the sword flopping out of Alrec's arm.
"Ah," said Kale. He picked up the sword and placed it in its scabbard. "I must have loosened it up."
He then reached down and took hold of the dagger. It didn't budge.
Sir Kale groaned. "Oh, hells."
The Trespassers
Author's note: Geez. I sure can be mopey sometimes. This story started out as me being a grump and turned into something different because I made the conscious decision to change it. While I may not always be able to pull it off, I think this just goes to show that writing is great therapy too, and we all have a choice about what we feel.
I think that it's important to allow yourself to feel whatever it is you need to feel. Just don't let it control/consume you like I occasionally do. I almost did with the first paragraph, then said "Okay. I'm feeling this thing, I'm allowing it to wash over me and I accept it. Now, enough is enough."
Oh, the story is still a downer, but at least it isn't another one of my whine fests. Enjoy.
*****
Writing in the lantern light, under the shadow of my own hand, my mind is filled with thoughts of other dark things. Things darker than mere shadow, dark as night. Thoughts that will haunt me until...
It was a beautiful, crisp fall evening. The moon cast its pale glow across the yard, aided by a million stars. I could see well enough and it may have saved my life, or at least prolonged it. Thank God for the moon.
I could just make them out, their slow, stumbling gait made me imagine a group of drunks. But something about the stiffness in their walk kept me from calling out to them. Drunks don't move like that.
I suppose I was fortunate to be sitting on my deck, enjoying a beer, when they first appeared. The vantage point gave me the ability to get a quick count. But the rustling I heard near my garden told me that the four I saw were definitely not alone. And as those four closed the distance I was just starting to see the others.
I couldn't count them fast enough. Ducking off of my chair I made my way to the door and slowly eased it open. It slid quietly on its rails, a small blessing. I closed it and made sure it was locked.
Standing up again I quickly made my way through the house, checked to see that all of the doors were locked, then went to my gun safe. I had a twenty-two rifle and pistol, which I used for target shooting, and I had plenty of rounds to go with them.
The twenty-two may not seem like the best weapon to have. It IS relatively weak and has almost no stopping power. However, my rifle and pistol fire straight and the hollow point rounds would do sufficient damage to the trespassers outside. Top that off with the fact that I could easily hold close to a hundred rounds in my pockets alone and even the average joe might start to see this particular caliber's merits.
Try carrying that many 30-06 or 50-cal rounds - they're totally pointless if a head shot will do, and you'd be lucky to get a dozen rounds in your pockets. (Sorry for the rant. You put yourself in my shoes and you'll understand why I might be a bit high strung right now.)
Anyhow, the rotten things started their moaning and banging. While I appreciated their politeness, they could knock all they wanted. I wasn't letting them in.
I heard the sound of shattering glass at my front door and I knew that my house was surrounded. I loaded up all of my rifle and pistol clips, threw some extra ammo in a small backpack, and grabbed my old camping hatchet as well. I needed to decide where my fall back room would be.
The garage attic seemed like the obvious choice. It had a pull-down staircase, was ventilated, and had a small store of food and water that I had placed there just in case. If your dad talks about societal collapse as much as mine did, you'd have some stores of food and water, too. I figured I'd have enough for a couple weeks; hopefully this mess would be cleaned up by then.
I quickly stalked through the house. I pulled open the garage door and was immediately greeted by a moaning, rotted visage. I picked tonight, of all nights, to forget to close the darn garage. The shambler reached out for me.
At the time my immediate reaction was to smash the walking corpse in the face with the butt of my rifle. It stumbled back and fell over. I immediately closed and locked the door.
Thinking on it now, the way the creature moved was almost beautiful, haunting. It made me think of a lover reaching out for a kiss. The yearning, longing look in its eyes was heart breaking. In part this was because I could imagine the creature as it once was. I wondered if there might be some flicker of humanity still locked away inside - like someone that is paralyzed, could the former host still see what was happening and do nothing to control it?
To be truthful, it was also haunting for the obvious fact that the darn thing was hoping to make a meal of me. Spark of humanity or not, I wasn't about to let anything snack on me. I don't imagine I would taste all that good anyway.
A pounding on the garage door told me that getting its face smashed hadn't slowed the walker down. That or one of its buddies had taken its place. Whatever the case, my plans were changed for me. I made my way to the bedroom instead.
As I walked past the front door the wooden frame finally gave out and the whole thing fell in. Four of them got wedged in what was left of the doorway. I immediately raised my rifle and sent their souls back to rest. They were replaced so fast that I probably shouldn't have even bothered. These next few were courteous enough to take turns invading my home. I was nice enough to put them down.
They kept coming though, so I kept shooting. On the plus side, their bodies were beginning to block up the door, which would buy me some time. Then I heard the shatter of glass from the doors and windows downstairs. I popped off a few more shots into the various faces, then made a dash for the bedroom.
Locking the door behind me, I then did a quick scan of the room. They hadn't smashed in the window yet, but it would only be a matter of time. The sound of the shamblers making their way through the hall was getting closer.
Grabbing my dresser seemed a good idea and I slid it in front of the door. For squirts and ha-has I decided to push the bed in front, too. It might not stop them, but would slow them down.
I pulled open my closet door and assessed the contents. There wasn't much: clothes, some favorite books, my old Magic the Gathering collection, some board games (maybe I should have tried to stump them with a game of chess). There was also my old camp lantern which would come in handy given my plans.
You see, there is a small access hole in the ceiling of my closet. I don't really have an actual attic there, so I don't know entirely why it's there. It came with the house, and at the moment I was thankful for that.
I gave a shove to the small hatch and slid it to the side. Given my recent luck I half expected to be eyeballing a rotter again. But once again today, fortune seemed to favor me.
Giving a quick check to my lantern, which was about half-full, I gently placed it up into the hole and slid it to the side. Then I reached out, took hold of the lip and pulled myself up, just as the door splintered. I gave one last glance and saw a rotted arm reaching through the doorway. Then I slid the hatch back in place.
I wish I knew how long ago that was. Maybe a day or so. All I know for sure is that I'm hungry and thirsty now. I feel claustrophobic and I might try to break a hole in the roof so I can get some air.
I hope they go away soon. I can still hear them shuffling around down there. They're bumping into things, breaking my stuff. Every now and then one of them scrapes its splintering nail along the hatch. They claw at it for awhile then go on about their business. And I'm just stuck here.
I have plenty of ammo, but what difference does it make? There are too many of them. No way I could fight my way out. No way I could shoot or reload that quickly.
I'm going to die up here.
They're clawing again, this time much harder. Maybe they can smell me or hear the scratch of my pen. My lantern is getting dim. Flickering now.
I'm going to die up here.
I think that it's important to allow yourself to feel whatever it is you need to feel. Just don't let it control/consume you like I occasionally do. I almost did with the first paragraph, then said "Okay. I'm feeling this thing, I'm allowing it to wash over me and I accept it. Now, enough is enough."
Oh, the story is still a downer, but at least it isn't another one of my whine fests. Enjoy.
*****
Writing in the lantern light, under the shadow of my own hand, my mind is filled with thoughts of other dark things. Things darker than mere shadow, dark as night. Thoughts that will haunt me until...
It was a beautiful, crisp fall evening. The moon cast its pale glow across the yard, aided by a million stars. I could see well enough and it may have saved my life, or at least prolonged it. Thank God for the moon.
I could just make them out, their slow, stumbling gait made me imagine a group of drunks. But something about the stiffness in their walk kept me from calling out to them. Drunks don't move like that.
I suppose I was fortunate to be sitting on my deck, enjoying a beer, when they first appeared. The vantage point gave me the ability to get a quick count. But the rustling I heard near my garden told me that the four I saw were definitely not alone. And as those four closed the distance I was just starting to see the others.
I couldn't count them fast enough. Ducking off of my chair I made my way to the door and slowly eased it open. It slid quietly on its rails, a small blessing. I closed it and made sure it was locked.
Standing up again I quickly made my way through the house, checked to see that all of the doors were locked, then went to my gun safe. I had a twenty-two rifle and pistol, which I used for target shooting, and I had plenty of rounds to go with them.
The twenty-two may not seem like the best weapon to have. It IS relatively weak and has almost no stopping power. However, my rifle and pistol fire straight and the hollow point rounds would do sufficient damage to the trespassers outside. Top that off with the fact that I could easily hold close to a hundred rounds in my pockets alone and even the average joe might start to see this particular caliber's merits.
Try carrying that many 30-06 or 50-cal rounds - they're totally pointless if a head shot will do, and you'd be lucky to get a dozen rounds in your pockets. (Sorry for the rant. You put yourself in my shoes and you'll understand why I might be a bit high strung right now.)
Anyhow, the rotten things started their moaning and banging. While I appreciated their politeness, they could knock all they wanted. I wasn't letting them in.
I heard the sound of shattering glass at my front door and I knew that my house was surrounded. I loaded up all of my rifle and pistol clips, threw some extra ammo in a small backpack, and grabbed my old camping hatchet as well. I needed to decide where my fall back room would be.
The garage attic seemed like the obvious choice. It had a pull-down staircase, was ventilated, and had a small store of food and water that I had placed there just in case. If your dad talks about societal collapse as much as mine did, you'd have some stores of food and water, too. I figured I'd have enough for a couple weeks; hopefully this mess would be cleaned up by then.
I quickly stalked through the house. I pulled open the garage door and was immediately greeted by a moaning, rotted visage. I picked tonight, of all nights, to forget to close the darn garage. The shambler reached out for me.
At the time my immediate reaction was to smash the walking corpse in the face with the butt of my rifle. It stumbled back and fell over. I immediately closed and locked the door.
Thinking on it now, the way the creature moved was almost beautiful, haunting. It made me think of a lover reaching out for a kiss. The yearning, longing look in its eyes was heart breaking. In part this was because I could imagine the creature as it once was. I wondered if there might be some flicker of humanity still locked away inside - like someone that is paralyzed, could the former host still see what was happening and do nothing to control it?
To be truthful, it was also haunting for the obvious fact that the darn thing was hoping to make a meal of me. Spark of humanity or not, I wasn't about to let anything snack on me. I don't imagine I would taste all that good anyway.
A pounding on the garage door told me that getting its face smashed hadn't slowed the walker down. That or one of its buddies had taken its place. Whatever the case, my plans were changed for me. I made my way to the bedroom instead.
As I walked past the front door the wooden frame finally gave out and the whole thing fell in. Four of them got wedged in what was left of the doorway. I immediately raised my rifle and sent their souls back to rest. They were replaced so fast that I probably shouldn't have even bothered. These next few were courteous enough to take turns invading my home. I was nice enough to put them down.
They kept coming though, so I kept shooting. On the plus side, their bodies were beginning to block up the door, which would buy me some time. Then I heard the shatter of glass from the doors and windows downstairs. I popped off a few more shots into the various faces, then made a dash for the bedroom.
Locking the door behind me, I then did a quick scan of the room. They hadn't smashed in the window yet, but it would only be a matter of time. The sound of the shamblers making their way through the hall was getting closer.
Grabbing my dresser seemed a good idea and I slid it in front of the door. For squirts and ha-has I decided to push the bed in front, too. It might not stop them, but would slow them down.
I pulled open my closet door and assessed the contents. There wasn't much: clothes, some favorite books, my old Magic the Gathering collection, some board games (maybe I should have tried to stump them with a game of chess). There was also my old camp lantern which would come in handy given my plans.
You see, there is a small access hole in the ceiling of my closet. I don't really have an actual attic there, so I don't know entirely why it's there. It came with the house, and at the moment I was thankful for that.
I gave a shove to the small hatch and slid it to the side. Given my recent luck I half expected to be eyeballing a rotter again. But once again today, fortune seemed to favor me.
Giving a quick check to my lantern, which was about half-full, I gently placed it up into the hole and slid it to the side. Then I reached out, took hold of the lip and pulled myself up, just as the door splintered. I gave one last glance and saw a rotted arm reaching through the doorway. Then I slid the hatch back in place.
I wish I knew how long ago that was. Maybe a day or so. All I know for sure is that I'm hungry and thirsty now. I feel claustrophobic and I might try to break a hole in the roof so I can get some air.
I hope they go away soon. I can still hear them shuffling around down there. They're bumping into things, breaking my stuff. Every now and then one of them scrapes its splintering nail along the hatch. They claw at it for awhile then go on about their business. And I'm just stuck here.
I have plenty of ammo, but what difference does it make? There are too many of them. No way I could fight my way out. No way I could shoot or reload that quickly.
I'm going to die up here.
They're clawing again, this time much harder. Maybe they can smell me or hear the scratch of my pen. My lantern is getting dim. Flickering now.
I'm going to die up here.
A Princess Poem
Once a princess who lived in a castle
met a goblin in the woods.
They talked of life and joys and sorrows;
then fell in love and it was good.
But fate it had another purpose
for the meeting of the two.
She was meant to learn, grow stronger
from all that he would put her through.
Goblins, you see, can be quite nasty,
it's in their nature to be grumpy at times.
To placate him she tried to love,
to cook nice dinners and feed him limes.
Nothing seemed to work for the princess
though she did her very best
She couldn't seem to make things better,
could not find her happiness.
So at last she went away
for it was all that could be done.
The goblin realized his folly
and with hanging head chased the setting sun.
Others tried to love the goblin
but didn't even register
"I had my princess," he'd quietly say.
"And no one else compares to her."
met a goblin in the woods.
They talked of life and joys and sorrows;
then fell in love and it was good.
But fate it had another purpose
for the meeting of the two.
She was meant to learn, grow stronger
from all that he would put her through.
Goblins, you see, can be quite nasty,
it's in their nature to be grumpy at times.
To placate him she tried to love,
to cook nice dinners and feed him limes.
Nothing seemed to work for the princess
though she did her very best
She couldn't seem to make things better,
could not find her happiness.
So at last she went away
for it was all that could be done.
The goblin realized his folly
and with hanging head chased the setting sun.
Others tried to love the goblin
but didn't even register
"I had my princess," he'd quietly say.
"And no one else compares to her."
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Divine
Author's Note: I have struggled to write this since December of 2011. It was meant to be my first crack at a full-length novel, and yet for some reason I could not quite get it out. I would write a paragraph or two, edit them. Delete them.
I would save the draft and come back to it over the weeks, months, only to begin the process over again.
Tonight I had the idea that if I could not quite get it out in the way I had originally intended, then perhaps a different format was required. I thought of the poem that inspired Stephen King's Dark Tower Series, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came", by Robert Browning.
Here was a lengthy poem that told a story. And while mine does not rhyme and isn't nearly as long, it tells, to some degree, the tale that I needed to tell.
As many of my stories do, it began with tears. But what sparked the idea was a simple dedication, or declaration, in a wonderful book - The Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence. I do not know who he dedicated the book to, other than a name, nor what the dedication actually means.
But it meant something to me.
All relationships, all loves have their good and bad moments. They have times when everything seems so right, and times when it all seems wrong.
But it is never wrong to love. As Stephen Levine once said, love is the only rational act.
Love is the only rational act.
It isn't perfect, by any stretch, but then again...
*****
"...the best parts were never broken."
He battled for years against many a foe
Defeated them all without a scratch
"Invincible" were the rumored tales
His wings outstretched, his halo bright
A rescue one day would change his life
He was mesmerized by her shining eyes
They fell in love thought there were concerns
if his enemies learned she might come to harm
She held his secret close to her heart
And at the end of the day he would come back to her
But time has a way of adding to strife
His love was afraid of losing him
She cried one night and begged him to stop
in her heart she knew it was a matter of time
So in the midst of battle she went out to him
Beseeched him to end it and just be with her
Distracted by this he was struck a blow from behind
In a brilliant flash his wings blew apart
He fell from the sky as a blazing ball of flame,
left a small crater where he crashed to the earth.
She ran to his side with tears in her eyes
Held his shattered form within her small arms
Blood trickled out as he struggled to speak
"I'm sorry," she said as she looked in his eyes.
"You were there for them all, I wanted you for me."
He looked into her eyes with tears flowing down
And smiled at the woman he had come to love
"It was always for you," he weakly spoke.
"I wanted to be worthy of the love that you gave."
With a groan and a grimace he pulled her close as he could.
A tear of blood fell from his eye
The wind swept up his broken feathers
Together they cried for the very last time
"I'm sorry," he said. "I left so much unspoken."
She said, "No my love...the best parts were unbroken."
Then with a shudder in her arms and a soft, gentle sigh
She watch her dear love, The Divine, slowly die.
The hero who had rescued her from above
Paid the ultimate price for the sake of their love
I would save the draft and come back to it over the weeks, months, only to begin the process over again.
Tonight I had the idea that if I could not quite get it out in the way I had originally intended, then perhaps a different format was required. I thought of the poem that inspired Stephen King's Dark Tower Series, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came", by Robert Browning.
Here was a lengthy poem that told a story. And while mine does not rhyme and isn't nearly as long, it tells, to some degree, the tale that I needed to tell.
As many of my stories do, it began with tears. But what sparked the idea was a simple dedication, or declaration, in a wonderful book - The Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence. I do not know who he dedicated the book to, other than a name, nor what the dedication actually means.
But it meant something to me.
All relationships, all loves have their good and bad moments. They have times when everything seems so right, and times when it all seems wrong.
But it is never wrong to love. As Stephen Levine once said, love is the only rational act.
Love is the only rational act.
It isn't perfect, by any stretch, but then again...
*****
"...the best parts were never broken."
He battled for years against many a foe
Defeated them all without a scratch
"Invincible" were the rumored tales
His wings outstretched, his halo bright
A rescue one day would change his life
He was mesmerized by her shining eyes
They fell in love thought there were concerns
if his enemies learned she might come to harm
She held his secret close to her heart
And at the end of the day he would come back to her
But time has a way of adding to strife
His love was afraid of losing him
She cried one night and begged him to stop
in her heart she knew it was a matter of time
So in the midst of battle she went out to him
Beseeched him to end it and just be with her
Distracted by this he was struck a blow from behind
In a brilliant flash his wings blew apart
He fell from the sky as a blazing ball of flame,
left a small crater where he crashed to the earth.
She ran to his side with tears in her eyes
Held his shattered form within her small arms
Blood trickled out as he struggled to speak
"I'm sorry," she said as she looked in his eyes.
"You were there for them all, I wanted you for me."
He looked into her eyes with tears flowing down
And smiled at the woman he had come to love
"It was always for you," he weakly spoke.
"I wanted to be worthy of the love that you gave."
With a groan and a grimace he pulled her close as he could.
A tear of blood fell from his eye
The wind swept up his broken feathers
Together they cried for the very last time
"I'm sorry," he said. "I left so much unspoken."
She said, "No my love...the best parts were unbroken."
Then with a shudder in her arms and a soft, gentle sigh
She watch her dear love, The Divine, slowly die.
The hero who had rescued her from above
Paid the ultimate price for the sake of their love
Phone calls and signs
"So if you're lonely, you know I'm here..." - Take Me Out, Franz Ferdinand
As the plane began its slow descent I knew that the butterflies in my stomach were from more than the change in altitude. Sure I had come back to see family, but I had also returned because home kept calling to me. ("Home is where the heart is.")
I had had dreams for weeks; they felt so real. Dreams of a hand, long absent, once again in mine. Eyes that I had longed to gaze into. A smile.
A whispered "I love you" in the soft grey-blue of the morning light...
And each time I would awaken, alone. Lost.
I would lay there for hours, thinking of what I needed to say ("It's only you"), what I needed to make known ("It can only be you"), what I needed to tell you ("You are the last I will love, the one that is home to my heart").
But as I sit here thinking ("Fortune favors the bold"), I realize that courage has eluded me. I am afraid, and I am hoping for a sign. Whispered words on the other end of the phone.
("I still love you. Come grow old with me.")
As the plane began its slow descent I knew that the butterflies in my stomach were from more than the change in altitude. Sure I had come back to see family, but I had also returned because home kept calling to me. ("Home is where the heart is.")
I had had dreams for weeks; they felt so real. Dreams of a hand, long absent, once again in mine. Eyes that I had longed to gaze into. A smile.
A whispered "I love you" in the soft grey-blue of the morning light...
And each time I would awaken, alone. Lost.
I would lay there for hours, thinking of what I needed to say ("It's only you"), what I needed to make known ("It can only be you"), what I needed to tell you ("You are the last I will love, the one that is home to my heart").
But as I sit here thinking ("Fortune favors the bold"), I realize that courage has eluded me. I am afraid, and I am hoping for a sign. Whispered words on the other end of the phone.
("I still love you. Come grow old with me.")
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Men in Black Suits
My Dearest Love,
last night the men in the black suits came for me.
My old horse had carried me across the miles and I was nearly to your door. The horse was lathered in sweat, and my bones ached. But when I saw the men I drew my sword and held it tightly in my hand.
It was not meant to be. There were too many of them.
One was called Regret. Another was named Sadness. There was also Guilt, Despondency, Pain, and Anger.
They were the ones that kept me from you and I am truly sorry. I swung my sword with all the strength left in me, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
I am writing this from the cell that they have locked me in. My heart aches at the thought that I was not strong enough to defeat them. It aches because they kept me from what should have been.
They kept me from you.
Now my time is running short and I am feeling weak. They have deprived me of the necessary nourishment that I need to keep going, and I am already so tired from my journey.
My love, as you read this, please know that I tried to get past them. I gave it all that I could, but I just was not strong enough.
I should have been stronger. For you. For me. For us.
The light is beginning to fade and the raven that I have captured to deliver this message is growing restless. He yearns to fly. To you.
Know that when you read this all of the love I ever had for you goes into these words. Know that I never gave up and will never give up.
Even as my body grows cold and weak, if I can find a way to come to you, I will. Because your love is all that I need. Your love, and your acceptance.
If I can find a way.
Until that time I will fight the men in the black suits. Until I can fight no more.
My love will always be with you and my heart will always be yours.
last night the men in the black suits came for me.
My old horse had carried me across the miles and I was nearly to your door. The horse was lathered in sweat, and my bones ached. But when I saw the men I drew my sword and held it tightly in my hand.
It was not meant to be. There were too many of them.
One was called Regret. Another was named Sadness. There was also Guilt, Despondency, Pain, and Anger.
They were the ones that kept me from you and I am truly sorry. I swung my sword with all the strength left in me, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
I am writing this from the cell that they have locked me in. My heart aches at the thought that I was not strong enough to defeat them. It aches because they kept me from what should have been.
They kept me from you.
Now my time is running short and I am feeling weak. They have deprived me of the necessary nourishment that I need to keep going, and I am already so tired from my journey.
My love, as you read this, please know that I tried to get past them. I gave it all that I could, but I just was not strong enough.
I should have been stronger. For you. For me. For us.
The light is beginning to fade and the raven that I have captured to deliver this message is growing restless. He yearns to fly. To you.
Know that when you read this all of the love I ever had for you goes into these words. Know that I never gave up and will never give up.
Even as my body grows cold and weak, if I can find a way to come to you, I will. Because your love is all that I need. Your love, and your acceptance.
If I can find a way.
Until that time I will fight the men in the black suits. Until I can fight no more.
My love will always be with you and my heart will always be yours.
Under the Field of Stars
To the countless stars up in the sky
I beg "Please tell her true."
And each time you look upon the heavens
they're whispering
"He loves you."
~~~~~~~~
I look up at the evening sky
and my mind turns to you.
As I gaze upon the stars I ask
"Is she looking at them, too?"
My love for you it has no end
though we may be far apart.
When you stare up at the sky
please know
you are always in my heart.
I beg "Please tell her true."
And each time you look upon the heavens
they're whispering
"He loves you."
~~~~~~~~
I look up at the evening sky
and my mind turns to you.
As I gaze upon the stars I ask
"Is she looking at them, too?"
My love for you it has no end
though we may be far apart.
When you stare up at the sky
please know
you are always in my heart.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Driving
Sometimes I can't remember what you look like. What remains is a phantom limb. Losing you was like losing an arm or a hand. Yes. A hand.
There are times when I'm driving, usually late at night, that I'll see something, a sign or billboard perhaps. I'll look over with a smile on my face because I know you'll be just as geeked about it as I am.
But you aren't there. Not anymore. Never again. And my life feels empty.
I know why you felt like you had to go. I was stagnant and holding you back. I always held you back.
I should have been more helpful. Should have been more patient. Should have been more kind. Should have been more loving.
I should have been more. I should have, and now I can't.
Not with you. And not without you.
Not without you.
There are times when I'm driving, usually late at night, that I'll see something, a sign or billboard perhaps. I'll look over with a smile on my face because I know you'll be just as geeked about it as I am.
But you aren't there. Not anymore. Never again. And my life feels empty.
I know why you felt like you had to go. I was stagnant and holding you back. I always held you back.
I should have been more helpful. Should have been more patient. Should have been more kind. Should have been more loving.
I should have been more. I should have, and now I can't.
Not with you. And not without you.
Not without you.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Mish-mash patty-whack
Cogitate
At what point does solitude become solitary? When does relaxation become resignation? In the view of a majestic sunset some of life's biggest issues become mere trivialities. And in the quiet calm induced by such a heavenly art show of color and light, a mind can attain laser-like focus. A focus that can become a double-edged sword.
Focus can break the wings of a soaring heart. It can lead from simple contemplation of life's great joys to ruminations of life's tragedies; cause a soul to plunge from the heavens to the abyss of memory.
An author once wrote that memory is the great deceiver, and it must be so. For when I remember the sunsets, the long walks in the woods, and swimming in the cold waters, I recall holding a hand in mine. The sound of a voice, a beautiful voice, laughing as we talk about everything. And nothing.
There was a face, smiling. I am sure of that. But I do not remember what it looks like. Only that it was the one that mattered most to me. The only one I wanted to look at, with the only eyes I wanted to look into.
Shadows
What if we are the shadows that shrink and grow; the dopplegangers on the other side of the mirror? What if we are the sadness, pain, bitterness and struggle? What if, on the other side, there is a utopia that we will never see? Are we the outcasts, the projections, the imagined? Are we really so great? Or are we just the shadows, the darkness; waiting for the light to dispel our short lives?
When the apple was eaten in the garden, did a merciful father create a split, allowing the children of the light to live in harmony, while the shadows were left to suffer? Did Peter Pan lose his shadow, or did it lose him?
Unimpressed
I don't want to have to show off to you or make you feel impressed
I just hope you'll say you love me, even when I am a mess.
You don't need to wear your make-up or have a tiny waist and thighs
You'll always be the prettiest girl that I've seen with these two eyes.
I just want to be loved for who I am, you'll be loved the same my dear
And you'll be held in arms that won't let go. No, not ever. Don't you fear.
Exit
Struggling, we enter the world and open our eyes to terrifying, bright light and a warm embrace. Make friends. Make love. Make someone feel special. Then close your eyes to the sunshine with a smile on your face. Return to the darkness, to her cold embrace.
At what point does solitude become solitary? When does relaxation become resignation? In the view of a majestic sunset some of life's biggest issues become mere trivialities. And in the quiet calm induced by such a heavenly art show of color and light, a mind can attain laser-like focus. A focus that can become a double-edged sword.
Focus can break the wings of a soaring heart. It can lead from simple contemplation of life's great joys to ruminations of life's tragedies; cause a soul to plunge from the heavens to the abyss of memory.
An author once wrote that memory is the great deceiver, and it must be so. For when I remember the sunsets, the long walks in the woods, and swimming in the cold waters, I recall holding a hand in mine. The sound of a voice, a beautiful voice, laughing as we talk about everything. And nothing.
There was a face, smiling. I am sure of that. But I do not remember what it looks like. Only that it was the one that mattered most to me. The only one I wanted to look at, with the only eyes I wanted to look into.
Shadows
What if we are the shadows that shrink and grow; the dopplegangers on the other side of the mirror? What if we are the sadness, pain, bitterness and struggle? What if, on the other side, there is a utopia that we will never see? Are we the outcasts, the projections, the imagined? Are we really so great? Or are we just the shadows, the darkness; waiting for the light to dispel our short lives?
When the apple was eaten in the garden, did a merciful father create a split, allowing the children of the light to live in harmony, while the shadows were left to suffer? Did Peter Pan lose his shadow, or did it lose him?
Unimpressed
I don't want to have to show off to you or make you feel impressed
I just hope you'll say you love me, even when I am a mess.
You don't need to wear your make-up or have a tiny waist and thighs
You'll always be the prettiest girl that I've seen with these two eyes.
I just want to be loved for who I am, you'll be loved the same my dear
And you'll be held in arms that won't let go. No, not ever. Don't you fear.
Exit
Struggling, we enter the world and open our eyes to terrifying, bright light and a warm embrace. Make friends. Make love. Make someone feel special. Then close your eyes to the sunshine with a smile on your face. Return to the darkness, to her cold embrace.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Oldies
The following are some older writings that I'm PRETTY sure aren't up here. It will be updated as I find them. If you spot a duplicate, by all means, let me know.
She Asked - originally written 2/17/11
She asked, "Are you alright?"
I said, "I don't think that I'm real
I'm made of glue and paper
But somehow I still feel."
She asked, "How can I help you?"
I answered, "I don't know.
But part of me is missing,
and for awhile now, it seems so."
She asked, "Well, what has happened?"
"I fell in love," came my reply.
"And the glue and paper have come undone
from the tears out of my eyes."
She asked, "What has you crying?
What have you been going through?"
I said, "It started when I realized
that my heart belonged to you."
She asked, "Is that a bad thing?"
I said, "No, it's not. That's true.
But I'm not quite right, so I wonder
What's that saying about you?"
And she said, "I hadn't thought of that."
Then, forever, walked away.
My paper heart lay in pieces then
And still does to this day.
*****
The Gift - originally written 4/10/2011
She Asked - originally written 2/17/11
She asked, "Are you alright?"
I said, "I don't think that I'm real
I'm made of glue and paper
But somehow I still feel."
She asked, "How can I help you?"
I answered, "I don't know.
But part of me is missing,
and for awhile now, it seems so."
She asked, "Well, what has happened?"
"I fell in love," came my reply.
"And the glue and paper have come undone
from the tears out of my eyes."
She asked, "What has you crying?
What have you been going through?"
I said, "It started when I realized
that my heart belonged to you."
She asked, "Is that a bad thing?"
I said, "No, it's not. That's true.
But I'm not quite right, so I wonder
What's that saying about you?"
And she said, "I hadn't thought of that."
Then, forever, walked away.
My paper heart lay in pieces then
And still does to this day.
*****
The Gift - originally written 4/10/2011
When you love someone dearly, don't do it on autopilot
Don't take them for granted, or soon you'll regret it.
Remember to always be patient and kind,
know your actions effect them, so keep them in mind.
Love is a journey, but you can't just press "cruise"
you must put real thought into the words that you choose.
Listen intently and understand what they say
and don't just follow your heart, it can lead you astray.
Rather, lead your heart onward and you can pass any test
for while there's faith, hope, and love - love is the best
Show them you love them, and show them each day
Because love is a gift that can be taken away.
*****
Don't take them for granted, or soon you'll regret it.
Remember to always be patient and kind,
know your actions effect them, so keep them in mind.
Love is a journey, but you can't just press "cruise"
you must put real thought into the words that you choose.
Listen intently and understand what they say
and don't just follow your heart, it can lead you astray.
Rather, lead your heart onward and you can pass any test
for while there's faith, hope, and love - love is the best
Show them you love them, and show them each day
Because love is a gift that can be taken away.
*****
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Night Call
I dial the number late at night
my number anonymous to help me hide
I listen closely for ten seconds time
to hear the voice that used to mingle with mine
What it says doesn't matter
what it no longer says does
it reminds me of memories
what could have been
what was
my number anonymous to help me hide
I listen closely for ten seconds time
to hear the voice that used to mingle with mine
What it says doesn't matter
what it no longer says does
it reminds me of memories
what could have been
what was
Fairy Godmother
This is a story that I wrote over the course of a few hours while in the RCA field. I had asked the students I was working with to give me ideas for a fairy tale. The princess and the pea, the boy who cried wolf and little red riding hood were mentioned.
I had originally intended the story to be a lighthearted mishmash of tales. It became something else.
I don't always come up with the stories. Sometime, I'm just writing them down. I hope you enjoy it as much as I (and the students) did.
Once upon a time a call went out to the four corners of the world, to all of the great kingdoms. The prince of the kingdom of Shadow Vale was seeking a bride. But in order to marry him, his bride-to-be must first be verified as a true princess.
The princess of Sunny Vale had heard that the prince was very handsome and wonderful and kind, and asked her father the king if she could go and be verified. The request annoyed her father.
“I am a king, my child,” he said. “Of course you are a true princess. It would be foolish, insulting even, for you to go and I forbid it.”
The princess cried and begged, but the answer was the same. She went to her room and cried and cried.
She wept, head in her hands. But while she did so, a white light slowly filled the room. She looked up to see a small woman, plump in the waist with white hair, glasses and kindly face, flying into her window.
“Who are you,” asked the princess.
“I am a fairy godmother,” said the little old lady with a mirthful smile. “I have heard your cries and will help you find your way to the prince.”
The princess was overjoyed and listened intently as the fairy godmother told her of the quickest route through the forest; a scary and dark place, but one that would allow her to be verified before anyone else.
“Thank you so much, fairy godmother,” said the elated princess.
The fairy just smiled, gave her a wink and faded away in shimmering lights. A few hours later, the princess brushed her hair and placed her tiara on her head, and made sure she looked lovely. Then she snuck out of the castle and made her way to the forest. There she found the path that had been made known to her. With a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, she began her journey.
After walking for a few hours in the fading, evening sunlight she met a boy on the path. He was sallow-faced, sickly looking and gave the princess goose pimples.
“Go no further,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her. “This way there is a wolf and you are in great danger.”
The princess was frightened by the boy’s words. However, her desire to be wedded to the handsome prince was too great and she forced herself to be brave.
“I must go on,” she said, and walked past the boy. After traveling a few paces she turned to see if he was following. The boy was gone, and a shiver ran down her spine.
Her knees shook as she continued on her way. A rustle in the bushes made her heart begin to pound. And even more frightening was the way the rustling seemed to be following her.
Suddenly something burst out of the shrubs and foliage, scattering leaves and dead branches in its wake. There was a loud roar and the princess fell to the ground, arm held up in defense. She waited to feel the pain of sharp teeth, but it never came.
Instead, she heard something. Something that made her feel a fool. And when she saw the source of the noise, she grew quite angry.
The boy from before, the one who had warned her of the dangers ahead, was standing there. His arms rested on his knees as he tried to hold himself up from laughing so hard. After a moment his laughter slowed and he stood, shaking his head.
“Why would you do such a thing,” screamed the princess, coming to her feet.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” said the boy. “I just couldn’t resist. But I’m very serious about the wolf I mentioned and I really think you should turn back. You are in great danger.”
The princess laughed. “And you expect me to believe you and be afraid so you can scare me again? I think not.”
“Please,” said the boy. “I’m serious about this. There really is a...”
“Fool me once,” the princess cut him off. “Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
With this, she shoved past him and continued on her way. He called out to her again but his words fell on deaf ears.
Soon after, the sun went down and the forest grew very dark. The trees were thick and the bushes tall. All the princess could see was a virtual wall of deep browns and darks greens on the sides of the moonlit path. She felt afraid but steeled herself and continued on.
She peered to the sides, eyes darting toward every little noise. It sounded like something was near.
Ahead of her on the path a figure emerged. She felt panicked for a moment before realizing it was the figure of the boy.
“Please stop,” he shouted, out of breath.
“You again,” said the princess. “Why do you keep trying to frighten me?”
The boy made his way to her with a limp that she hadn’t noticed before. “I’m not trying to frighten you,” he said. “I’m trying to save...”
He never finished the sentence, for out of the dark forest leapt the biggest, blackest wolf the princess would ever see. In one pounce it landed next to the boy, gripped him in its jaws and began tearing him to pieces.
The princess ran as fast as she could. She heard the fading sound of the boy’s cries. Heard the crunching of bones and the gnashing of teeth. Then silence.
The princess did not stop. The path grew brighter ahead, the woods less thick. Soon she was able to see clearly, and her heart grew light at the sight before her.
There, just outside of the forest was a bridge. And beyond the bridge a castle loomed. Soon she would reach her goal.
Without looking back she sprinted over the bridge. She rushed up to the castle doors and began pounding on them. She cried out.
“Hello,” she yelled. “Will someone please let me in? I’m here to be verified as a princess and a wolf is after me!”
“A wolf?”
The muffled voice came from behind the castle door and was followed by the sound of bolts being thrown. The door flew open and standing before her was the fairy godmother she had met earlier.
“You?”
“Don’t dabble, my child,” said the little fairy woman. “Hurry inside, now. Quickly.”
The princess entered with haste, closing and bolting the door behind her.
“Are you alright, my dear,” asked the old fairy.
“Yes, I’m alright,” said the princess. “I was so afraid of the wolf. I must look an awful mess, but I’m so glad to be here. When may I be verified?”
The fairy godmother smiled at her sincerely. “Follow me and we’ll get started right away.”
They walked through the castle, up and down stairs. The princess marveled at the beautiful decorations: tall banners, large chandeliers, tapestries of bright colors, and the most wonderful paintings.
One of the paintings was of the prince. The princess paused to admire him; he was just as handsome as she had heard. Coal black hair, a handsome face and beautiful, bright green eyes. The eyes dazzled her, held her spellbound and she thought she had seen them before. Perhaps in a dream.
The old fairy’s voice pulled her from her musings. “Right this way my dear.”
The princess followed. She entered into a room like none she had ever seen before. It was filled with mattresses, stacked high, nearly up to the ceiling.
The princess was awestruck. She stared up, up, up and slowly turned around taking it all in. It was oddly beautiful.
“Soon, we will prove that you are a princess, my dear,” said the fairy godmother. “Just climb up to the top of the mattresses and have a rest before we get started.”
She thought it seemed a strange place to take a rest but, after the ordeal with the wolf, the princess felt like sleep would be very welcome. She gave a smile and curtsy to the old fairy godmother, straightened her tiara, then made her way up the ladder. It seemed to take quite some time, but soon enough she reached the top. There she lay down and rested.
Or rather, she tried to rest.
“Goodnight dear,” came the sing-song voice of the fairy godmother.
“Goodnight,” replied the princess.
But the night was not good to her. She tossed and turned, trying but unable to get comfortable. It felt as though something was digging into her back all night no matter where she seemed to move.
When the light of morning finally came the princess had slept not at all. She inched her way down the ladder when she heard the fairy godmother greet her with a much too chipper “rise and shine dear.” She was bleary-eyed, messy-haired, and cranky. Her tiara lay crooked across her head, and she straightened it the best she could when she reached the ground.
“Oh my,” said the fairy woman. “You seem not to have slept a wink.”
The princess’ face grew a bit red.
“There was something digging into my back all night,” she said. “Try as I might I could not get comfortable, even on all of those mattresses. I could not fall asleep.”
At this, the princess burst into tears. “I’ll just look like a mess if I meet the prince, and I’m too exhausted to do much of anything. I don’t know if I can do your verification test!”
She continued to sob for a moment before a hand gently took her shoulder.
“My dear, you’ve already passed the test,” said the fairy. “For you see, underneath all of those mattresses was a single pea.”
“A pea?”
“Yes,” the fairy continued. “And only a true princess could feel such a thing.”
A wave of euphoria slowly washed over the princess. Now she could meet and marry the prince. She had never felt so happy, and all thoughts of being tired vanished in an instant.
“When may I meet the prince,” she asked, her look of excitement impossible to mask.
“He is waiting for you now,” said the fairy. She briefly touched the princess’ cheek, smiled that bright smile, then began turning toward the door. “I’ll get him for you.”
The fairy godmother made her way to the door and stepped just outside. The princess’ heart pounded in anticipation.
“She is indeed a true princess,” she heard the old fairy say. “The last one you will need.”
“The last one...,” the princess began to say to herself. The last words caught in her throat when the fairy stepped into the doorway.
“Here he is my dear,” she said, holding the door with one hand and ushering the prince into the room.
He had the most beautiful coal black hair, and strong, solid features. And those beautiful green eyes seemed to mesmerize her.
But what made the words stop in her throat, made her blood turn cold and her knees begin to quake and tears come to her eyes, were the big, sharp teeth.
It was the biggest, blackest wolf the princess would ever see.
As it pounced toward her she knew it would be the last thing she would ever see.
“Why,” she managed to whisper before being knocked to the floor. No answer ever came and her world went from colors, to red, to black, to nothing.
The next day the fairy godmother entered the prince’s room. He stood in front of his mirror, straightening his crown and adjusting his best suit of clothes. It was his wedding day.
“You look simply dashing, my boy,” said the fairy.
“I owe it all to you,” he said with a handsome smile. “Had you not known how to break the curse I would still be a wolf and unable to marry my one, true love.”
“Well, my boy,” smiled the old woman. “That’s what fairy godmothers are here for. To make dreams come true.”
She smiled, took his hand and gently led him away from the mirror. She walked him toward the door, past a fireplace. Upon the mantle lay three beautiful tiaras.
The prince glanced at them, glanced at his fairy godmother.
“I feel bad about...,” he began.
“Do not,” his fairy godmother interrupted. “They all came here hoping that someone would make their dreams come true. In their haste they were blinded to an old saying.”
“What is that,” asked the prince.
The fairy godmother smiled, gave his hand a squeeze. “Before you wish that dreams come true,” she said. “Be sure the dream belongs to you.”
The prince smiled. “Of course.”
He and his fairy godmother left the room and made their way to the wedding. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and the prince and his one, true love were married. They would live happily ever after.
The End.
I had originally intended the story to be a lighthearted mishmash of tales. It became something else.
I don't always come up with the stories. Sometime, I'm just writing them down. I hope you enjoy it as much as I (and the students) did.
Once upon a time a call went out to the four corners of the world, to all of the great kingdoms. The prince of the kingdom of Shadow Vale was seeking a bride. But in order to marry him, his bride-to-be must first be verified as a true princess.
The princess of Sunny Vale had heard that the prince was very handsome and wonderful and kind, and asked her father the king if she could go and be verified. The request annoyed her father.
“I am a king, my child,” he said. “Of course you are a true princess. It would be foolish, insulting even, for you to go and I forbid it.”
The princess cried and begged, but the answer was the same. She went to her room and cried and cried.
She wept, head in her hands. But while she did so, a white light slowly filled the room. She looked up to see a small woman, plump in the waist with white hair, glasses and kindly face, flying into her window.
“Who are you,” asked the princess.
“I am a fairy godmother,” said the little old lady with a mirthful smile. “I have heard your cries and will help you find your way to the prince.”
The princess was overjoyed and listened intently as the fairy godmother told her of the quickest route through the forest; a scary and dark place, but one that would allow her to be verified before anyone else.
“Thank you so much, fairy godmother,” said the elated princess.
The fairy just smiled, gave her a wink and faded away in shimmering lights. A few hours later, the princess brushed her hair and placed her tiara on her head, and made sure she looked lovely. Then she snuck out of the castle and made her way to the forest. There she found the path that had been made known to her. With a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, she began her journey.
After walking for a few hours in the fading, evening sunlight she met a boy on the path. He was sallow-faced, sickly looking and gave the princess goose pimples.
“Go no further,” he said, holding up his hand to stop her. “This way there is a wolf and you are in great danger.”
The princess was frightened by the boy’s words. However, her desire to be wedded to the handsome prince was too great and she forced herself to be brave.
“I must go on,” she said, and walked past the boy. After traveling a few paces she turned to see if he was following. The boy was gone, and a shiver ran down her spine.
Her knees shook as she continued on her way. A rustle in the bushes made her heart begin to pound. And even more frightening was the way the rustling seemed to be following her.
Suddenly something burst out of the shrubs and foliage, scattering leaves and dead branches in its wake. There was a loud roar and the princess fell to the ground, arm held up in defense. She waited to feel the pain of sharp teeth, but it never came.
Instead, she heard something. Something that made her feel a fool. And when she saw the source of the noise, she grew quite angry.
The boy from before, the one who had warned her of the dangers ahead, was standing there. His arms rested on his knees as he tried to hold himself up from laughing so hard. After a moment his laughter slowed and he stood, shaking his head.
“Why would you do such a thing,” screamed the princess, coming to her feet.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” said the boy. “I just couldn’t resist. But I’m very serious about the wolf I mentioned and I really think you should turn back. You are in great danger.”
The princess laughed. “And you expect me to believe you and be afraid so you can scare me again? I think not.”
“Please,” said the boy. “I’m serious about this. There really is a...”
“Fool me once,” the princess cut him off. “Shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
With this, she shoved past him and continued on her way. He called out to her again but his words fell on deaf ears.
Soon after, the sun went down and the forest grew very dark. The trees were thick and the bushes tall. All the princess could see was a virtual wall of deep browns and darks greens on the sides of the moonlit path. She felt afraid but steeled herself and continued on.
She peered to the sides, eyes darting toward every little noise. It sounded like something was near.
Ahead of her on the path a figure emerged. She felt panicked for a moment before realizing it was the figure of the boy.
“Please stop,” he shouted, out of breath.
“You again,” said the princess. “Why do you keep trying to frighten me?”
The boy made his way to her with a limp that she hadn’t noticed before. “I’m not trying to frighten you,” he said. “I’m trying to save...”
He never finished the sentence, for out of the dark forest leapt the biggest, blackest wolf the princess would ever see. In one pounce it landed next to the boy, gripped him in its jaws and began tearing him to pieces.
The princess ran as fast as she could. She heard the fading sound of the boy’s cries. Heard the crunching of bones and the gnashing of teeth. Then silence.
The princess did not stop. The path grew brighter ahead, the woods less thick. Soon she was able to see clearly, and her heart grew light at the sight before her.
There, just outside of the forest was a bridge. And beyond the bridge a castle loomed. Soon she would reach her goal.
Without looking back she sprinted over the bridge. She rushed up to the castle doors and began pounding on them. She cried out.
“Hello,” she yelled. “Will someone please let me in? I’m here to be verified as a princess and a wolf is after me!”
“A wolf?”
The muffled voice came from behind the castle door and was followed by the sound of bolts being thrown. The door flew open and standing before her was the fairy godmother she had met earlier.
“You?”
“Don’t dabble, my child,” said the little fairy woman. “Hurry inside, now. Quickly.”
The princess entered with haste, closing and bolting the door behind her.
“Are you alright, my dear,” asked the old fairy.
“Yes, I’m alright,” said the princess. “I was so afraid of the wolf. I must look an awful mess, but I’m so glad to be here. When may I be verified?”
The fairy godmother smiled at her sincerely. “Follow me and we’ll get started right away.”
They walked through the castle, up and down stairs. The princess marveled at the beautiful decorations: tall banners, large chandeliers, tapestries of bright colors, and the most wonderful paintings.
One of the paintings was of the prince. The princess paused to admire him; he was just as handsome as she had heard. Coal black hair, a handsome face and beautiful, bright green eyes. The eyes dazzled her, held her spellbound and she thought she had seen them before. Perhaps in a dream.
The old fairy’s voice pulled her from her musings. “Right this way my dear.”
The princess followed. She entered into a room like none she had ever seen before. It was filled with mattresses, stacked high, nearly up to the ceiling.
The princess was awestruck. She stared up, up, up and slowly turned around taking it all in. It was oddly beautiful.
“Soon, we will prove that you are a princess, my dear,” said the fairy godmother. “Just climb up to the top of the mattresses and have a rest before we get started.”
She thought it seemed a strange place to take a rest but, after the ordeal with the wolf, the princess felt like sleep would be very welcome. She gave a smile and curtsy to the old fairy godmother, straightened her tiara, then made her way up the ladder. It seemed to take quite some time, but soon enough she reached the top. There she lay down and rested.
Or rather, she tried to rest.
“Goodnight dear,” came the sing-song voice of the fairy godmother.
“Goodnight,” replied the princess.
But the night was not good to her. She tossed and turned, trying but unable to get comfortable. It felt as though something was digging into her back all night no matter where she seemed to move.
When the light of morning finally came the princess had slept not at all. She inched her way down the ladder when she heard the fairy godmother greet her with a much too chipper “rise and shine dear.” She was bleary-eyed, messy-haired, and cranky. Her tiara lay crooked across her head, and she straightened it the best she could when she reached the ground.
“Oh my,” said the fairy woman. “You seem not to have slept a wink.”
The princess’ face grew a bit red.
“There was something digging into my back all night,” she said. “Try as I might I could not get comfortable, even on all of those mattresses. I could not fall asleep.”
At this, the princess burst into tears. “I’ll just look like a mess if I meet the prince, and I’m too exhausted to do much of anything. I don’t know if I can do your verification test!”
She continued to sob for a moment before a hand gently took her shoulder.
“My dear, you’ve already passed the test,” said the fairy. “For you see, underneath all of those mattresses was a single pea.”
“A pea?”
“Yes,” the fairy continued. “And only a true princess could feel such a thing.”
A wave of euphoria slowly washed over the princess. Now she could meet and marry the prince. She had never felt so happy, and all thoughts of being tired vanished in an instant.
“When may I meet the prince,” she asked, her look of excitement impossible to mask.
“He is waiting for you now,” said the fairy. She briefly touched the princess’ cheek, smiled that bright smile, then began turning toward the door. “I’ll get him for you.”
The fairy godmother made her way to the door and stepped just outside. The princess’ heart pounded in anticipation.
“She is indeed a true princess,” she heard the old fairy say. “The last one you will need.”
“The last one...,” the princess began to say to herself. The last words caught in her throat when the fairy stepped into the doorway.
“Here he is my dear,” she said, holding the door with one hand and ushering the prince into the room.
He had the most beautiful coal black hair, and strong, solid features. And those beautiful green eyes seemed to mesmerize her.
But what made the words stop in her throat, made her blood turn cold and her knees begin to quake and tears come to her eyes, were the big, sharp teeth.
It was the biggest, blackest wolf the princess would ever see.
As it pounced toward her she knew it would be the last thing she would ever see.
“Why,” she managed to whisper before being knocked to the floor. No answer ever came and her world went from colors, to red, to black, to nothing.
The next day the fairy godmother entered the prince’s room. He stood in front of his mirror, straightening his crown and adjusting his best suit of clothes. It was his wedding day.
“You look simply dashing, my boy,” said the fairy.
“I owe it all to you,” he said with a handsome smile. “Had you not known how to break the curse I would still be a wolf and unable to marry my one, true love.”
“Well, my boy,” smiled the old woman. “That’s what fairy godmothers are here for. To make dreams come true.”
She smiled, took his hand and gently led him away from the mirror. She walked him toward the door, past a fireplace. Upon the mantle lay three beautiful tiaras.
The prince glanced at them, glanced at his fairy godmother.
“I feel bad about...,” he began.
“Do not,” his fairy godmother interrupted. “They all came here hoping that someone would make their dreams come true. In their haste they were blinded to an old saying.”
“What is that,” asked the prince.
The fairy godmother smiled, gave his hand a squeeze. “Before you wish that dreams come true,” she said. “Be sure the dream belongs to you.”
The prince smiled. “Of course.”
He and his fairy godmother left the room and made their way to the wedding. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and the prince and his one, true love were married. They would live happily ever after.
The End.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Faded Memory
With a shaking hand, he read from the blood-stained page.
---
My Dearest...One,
I am sitting alone atop a peak watching what will be my final sundown. It is a beautiful place. The air is crisp and the blues, violets, reds and oranges are more vivid than I imagined possible.
What is not vivid is my memory of you. Your face fades in my mind and I cannot accept such a thing. I cannot fathom it.
My heart still aches for you. The shame of my failing memory will go onto the list of all the shames I brought upon myself when it came to you. But I will never shame another.
You, as I once said, are the last I will ever love. To fall for another would be folly. You are the one I want to hold onto, but cannot. You are the one I want to laugh with, but will weep over. You are the one I want to grow old with, but instead...I will not grow old. Or at least, not much older than I was when you would jokingly call me your old man. And I do feel old.
The light is beginning to fade from the day now. Soon it will fade from my eyes and I will enter an eternal night. One from which I will suffer no dreams. No dreams that I will wake up from and forget you. All over. Again.
Once you asked me if I needed everyone to like me, or if you were enough. I know how to answer that now. Yes, I wanted others, everyone, to like me. But you were the only one I ever wanted to love me. You were enough, but I was never able to make that clear to you. Just as I can no longer close my eyes and see your beautiful face clearly. Yet another of my failures.
I don't know if you'll read this. I'm putting it here in the hopes that you won't, but will understand why I've gone away if you do. I know this isn't something you would have expected. Not even from me.
I love you, always. And if that love be unrequited, then I would no longer breathe the air, for it has become stale to me. I would no longer bathe in the sunlight, for it chills me with memories of holding your warmth in my arms. I will no longer look upon the stars, for they would ever remind me of your eyes.
Cheese. I know. And you used to love that about me. But now, what is there to love?
Nothing. I'm empty now. What you knew, loved is gone.
Goodbye my dearest. You were a treasure, and I lost you. Perhaps on the other side...
Perhaps.
---
Alex breathed a gentle sigh as he finished reading the letter. He took his time crumpling it up, feeling the changes in the texture as the paper gave way. He faltered slightly, nearly falling.
He eased down to his knees. His strength was fading. Looking over at Jack, he knew it was for the best. He had been losing control and it was only a matter of time.
Now that the time had come, Alex accepted it, though not with resignation. It was better this way.
---
My Dearest...One,
I am sitting alone atop a peak watching what will be my final sundown. It is a beautiful place. The air is crisp and the blues, violets, reds and oranges are more vivid than I imagined possible.
What is not vivid is my memory of you. Your face fades in my mind and I cannot accept such a thing. I cannot fathom it.
My heart still aches for you. The shame of my failing memory will go onto the list of all the shames I brought upon myself when it came to you. But I will never shame another.
You, as I once said, are the last I will ever love. To fall for another would be folly. You are the one I want to hold onto, but cannot. You are the one I want to laugh with, but will weep over. You are the one I want to grow old with, but instead...I will not grow old. Or at least, not much older than I was when you would jokingly call me your old man. And I do feel old.
The light is beginning to fade from the day now. Soon it will fade from my eyes and I will enter an eternal night. One from which I will suffer no dreams. No dreams that I will wake up from and forget you. All over. Again.
Once you asked me if I needed everyone to like me, or if you were enough. I know how to answer that now. Yes, I wanted others, everyone, to like me. But you were the only one I ever wanted to love me. You were enough, but I was never able to make that clear to you. Just as I can no longer close my eyes and see your beautiful face clearly. Yet another of my failures.
I don't know if you'll read this. I'm putting it here in the hopes that you won't, but will understand why I've gone away if you do. I know this isn't something you would have expected. Not even from me.
I love you, always. And if that love be unrequited, then I would no longer breathe the air, for it has become stale to me. I would no longer bathe in the sunlight, for it chills me with memories of holding your warmth in my arms. I will no longer look upon the stars, for they would ever remind me of your eyes.
Cheese. I know. And you used to love that about me. But now, what is there to love?
Nothing. I'm empty now. What you knew, loved is gone.
Goodbye my dearest. You were a treasure, and I lost you. Perhaps on the other side...
Perhaps.
---
Alex breathed a gentle sigh as he finished reading the letter. He took his time crumpling it up, feeling the changes in the texture as the paper gave way. He faltered slightly, nearly falling.
He eased down to his knees. His strength was fading. Looking over at Jack, he knew it was for the best. He had been losing control and it was only a matter of time.
Now that the time had come, Alex accepted it, though not with resignation. It was better this way.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Last Laugh
"I can feel it coming, Alex. I can feel the end."
Jack's dead gaze was leveled on his old friend. There was no laughter in his eyes, no smile. There was nothing.
"Well, bud," said Alex. "What are we going to do about that?"
This smile that finally crossed Jack's face was not filled with mirth. For the first time, Alex felt uncomfortable around his friend.
"What to do, indeed," Jack replied.
A peel of laughter issued from his lips, and Alex felt his blood go cold. He'd known he was losing control of the situation. But he hadn't suspected he'd lost it to this degree.
What to do, indeed.
Jack's dead gaze was leveled on his old friend. There was no laughter in his eyes, no smile. There was nothing.
"Well, bud," said Alex. "What are we going to do about that?"
This smile that finally crossed Jack's face was not filled with mirth. For the first time, Alex felt uncomfortable around his friend.
"What to do, indeed," Jack replied.
A peel of laughter issued from his lips, and Alex felt his blood go cold. He'd known he was losing control of the situation. But he hadn't suspected he'd lost it to this degree.
What to do, indeed.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
In the Evening Air
His swift feet, silent in the night.
His adversary roars out in fright.
The pulsing blood fuels his inner fire,
And soon slakes the thirst of the old vampire.
Tonight was no different where tips were concerned. The diner had closed an hour ago. After counting her cash and helping Joe do some cleaning, she headed out the door.
There was a slight chill in the air, and she hugged her warm coat contentedly. She wasn't concerned about the cold, even enjoyed it. And her apartment was only about 6 blocks away. It was a nice, clear night. The stars were shining and the moon was full. She gazed at them for a moment, smiled, and began the trek home.
She had been strolling along, enjoying the evening air, for about a block. As she neared 2nd and Main, she noticed a man standing there, looking at his cell phone and waiting for the light. It seemed odd to her because in this small town, at this late hour, Main Street was deserted.
Maybe he is lost and checking out a map on his phone, she thought. Ever friendly, she decided to say hello to this stranger and see if he needed directions.
He turned as she approached. His face was friendly, with sharp features. His hair was dark, his eyes a golden brown that seemed to shine in what little light there was. He was well tanned. He smiled at her.
"Why hello there," said the stranger.
"Hi," said Mary. "I'm sorry if I startled you, but you looked like you might be lost."
He looked into her eyes, and at that moment, time seemed to stop for Mary. She didn't know how long she stared into the depths of his eyes, but at eventually, time caught up. The stranger was still smiling, and his light chuckle brought her out of her trance.
"Is it that obvious?"
He stepped toward her, hand extended. She took it and gave him a firm handshake. His hand was very cold. It didn't seem odd to her, given the weather.
"My name is Jack," he said softly. His voice was smooth, relaxing. Already Mary felt like she could listen to that voice for the rest of her life and never get tired of it. She giggled at her silly, school girl thought.
"Mary," she said. She had thought to release his hand, but he held on.
The stranger continued to smile.
"Mary," he sighed. "A classic name to match your classic good looks."
She blushed at this. She felt oddly uncomfortable. However, it was because she didn't feel more uncomfortable than she did. It was strange.
"My dear, I must admit to you a slight fib." He place his other hand upon hers, gently brushed his finger over her smooth white skin. "I am not lost. I was waiting."
He paused.
"For you."
Mary was confused. Why would he be waiting for her? She asked him this.
"Because I owe a debt to you. Rather, I owe a debt to a man by the name of William, whom I knew as a boy."
A spark recognition in her mind. Her father's name was William. But there was no way Jack could have known him, not as a boy anyway.
"My dad is 53. You look to be 30 at most. When did you meet him?"
"I knew him when he was 13 years old. He rescued me."
This was impossible, but Mary was intrigued.
"He...rescued you? How is that possible? You wouldn't even have been born yet."
"On the contrary," said Jack. "In fact, I was one of his teachers."
Her mind reeled at this. Was Jack crazy? If so, then why, even now, did she feel safe around him?
"And he rescued me by not giving up my secret. A secret that he still maintains to this very day."
"And what secret is that," she asked. Suddenly aware that her hand was still in his, she gave it a slight pull. He released it immediately.
"Sorry," he said. "Yes, my secret. One that he came upon when playing in a field near his old home."
There was a noise in the distance then, the bang of a garbage can perhaps. Mary began to turn toward it.
"No," said Jack. "Don't look. Please."
Again he took up her hand.
"Listen, I'll keep this short. Your father came to know my secret when he was 13. I on the otherhand, was 260."
Mary scoffed. "What?"
"I don't have time to explain. But I have been hunting a creature that has, in turn, been hunting you."
He looked over her shoulder. In the distance he saw a large creature silhoutted under a street light. It was stalking toward them.
"It has been sniffing you out for about a week now. Perhaps you recall a gentleman that you met recently? One who has been coming to your diner everyday?"
Mary immediately knew who he was talking about. There was a man, new in town. He had been coming into the diner when she worked. He was good looking enough, but the way he had looked at her was disquieting. Like he had been sizing up a meal. She had asked about him, but no one knew who he was.
Jack took her quiet as confirmation.
"He is coming for you now. I swore to your father that I would pay him back for protecting me. I am doing that tonight."
A sudden howl pierced the evening air. It sent a shiver down Mary's spine and formed goosebumps on her skin.
"Mary." Jack's voice drew her attention immediately. He was looking into her eyes once again. "I want you to just keep walking. Keep walking and don't look back. You have my word that you will get home safely.
Promise me that you won't look back."
Mary was unsure. She was scared now, but felt comfort in Jack's gaze.
"Alright," she said. "I won't look back."
Jack stepped aside, holding out his arm to usher her on.
"Be quick, my dear."
She began to walk. She did not look back, even when she heard the roar, even when she heard the sounds of struggle. She heard Jack's voice, powerful and commanding. She heard the reply, gutteral. Animal. Beastly. And as the distance increased, she heard one last sound. The sound of something, or someone, dying.
She heard all of this, but she did not look back.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
I guess it's something in the way I see the world now. Where before I only saw a tree, I now see a living being that was there before me and will, likely, be there when I'm gone. I wonder what it would say if it could talk, the stories it could tell. I agree with something Edward Abbey said about a juniper. He said that you could write a whole book about a juniper tree. Not the species itself, but about just one tree. Not sure if this makes sense, but it does to me.
I also think that my love of nature has aided me in becoming a more caring and accepting person in general. While I still have a way to go, there is something inspiring to me about the solemnity of a mountian, the giggling burble of a country stream, or the soft whisper of wind in the trees. They make me think of how much things change, and yet stay the same. And how we can can get through it all. Persevere.
For example, we pollute the world with all kinds of filth. Yet the mountain still stands; only a microcosm of cataclysm, such as high explosives, can really make them move. That, or a millennium of wind and rain; more than any of us will see in our short time here. And even though we put things into the water that should make the earth weep, the brook still babbles, the stream still giggles; and in time, it WILL clean itself. Even if we managed to kill off our entire race, the natural world would recover and thrive again. It would take time, sure. But it would do it. It's something we can't truly fathom, only allude to.
And where do I fit in with all of this? Who am I to suppose that I can make any sort of impact? I look at those beautiful mountains, let those streams cool and tickle my toes, and listen to the murmur of the leaves. They don't make an impact on everyone, but they do make an impact. They do make a difference.
Seeing this helps me realize that I don't have to fit in. I don't have to make an impact. I just have to be me, and love everything that that entails. That by simply being I can, to some place or someone, make a difference. I may never meet this person, or I may only interact with them in passing. I may never know. But I don't need to.
I also think that my love of nature has aided me in becoming a more caring and accepting person in general. While I still have a way to go, there is something inspiring to me about the solemnity of a mountian, the giggling burble of a country stream, or the soft whisper of wind in the trees. They make me think of how much things change, and yet stay the same. And how we can can get through it all. Persevere.
For example, we pollute the world with all kinds of filth. Yet the mountain still stands; only a microcosm of cataclysm, such as high explosives, can really make them move. That, or a millennium of wind and rain; more than any of us will see in our short time here. And even though we put things into the water that should make the earth weep, the brook still babbles, the stream still giggles; and in time, it WILL clean itself. Even if we managed to kill off our entire race, the natural world would recover and thrive again. It would take time, sure. But it would do it. It's something we can't truly fathom, only allude to.
And where do I fit in with all of this? Who am I to suppose that I can make any sort of impact? I look at those beautiful mountains, let those streams cool and tickle my toes, and listen to the murmur of the leaves. They don't make an impact on everyone, but they do make an impact. They do make a difference.
Seeing this helps me realize that I don't have to fit in. I don't have to make an impact. I just have to be me, and love everything that that entails. That by simply being I can, to some place or someone, make a difference. I may never meet this person, or I may only interact with them in passing. I may never know. But I don't need to.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Me
She said she loved me and my bold dreams
And how I looked at life like it was more than it seems
She loved the ways that my heart was loving and kind
The way that I tried to keep the good things in mind.
She said she loved how much help I tried to give
And how I went out of my way to make it easy for folks to live
And how for strangers there was always a smile on my face
But then she said that something just seemed out of place.
She said that I did all those things for everyone
But not for her, and that I wasn't the one.
She said that she loved me, and yeah, I know it was true
But "You give your heart to them, and I get none of that from you."
And then we were through.
Friday, May 18, 2012
It wasnt you
Tonight i saw you, Anne. But it wasnt you. From across the room it seemed like you were here, though you were thousands of miles away.
Her hair looked like yours used to. Her gestures matched up and she seemed to laugh with the same mirth that you used to laugh with.
Before me. Before I ruined everything.
She even wore a dress like one you used to have. Red. Cute.
And then she came closer.
Not even close. Her looks paled to yours. Her smile had no pop. Her face, though pretty, didnt hold a candle to yours.
A let down. An understatement.
I dont know why i try to kid myself. I dont know why i bother. With anything. With me.
I suppose i do it because you would have wanted it that way. Lord knows i let you down enough. I failed you. Us.
I sometimes wish I'd never met you, Anne. I wish I'd never looked into your eyes. Never saw your beautiful smile.
Wish in one hand...
I know that i was wrong for you. It wasnt you (though you shouldered the blame often). It was me.
It was always me. Always my fault. Always letting you down.
I'm sorry for that. I wish i could make it up to you.
I dont think i can.
How dare i have professed my love for you and then failed. How dare i have set such lofty goals and then given up.
How dare i walk this earth after my disgrace.
I wont live forever. But i will hold to my shame and remember my failure until the day i die. Until the day my body catches up to my soul.
No one can replace you. And no girl that i meet out on the town can compare.
I had you for a spell. I'll let that be enough.
I love you, Anne. You and no other. I always did. And I'm sorry i wasnt able to live up to that.
Her hair looked like yours used to. Her gestures matched up and she seemed to laugh with the same mirth that you used to laugh with.
Before me. Before I ruined everything.
She even wore a dress like one you used to have. Red. Cute.
And then she came closer.
Not even close. Her looks paled to yours. Her smile had no pop. Her face, though pretty, didnt hold a candle to yours.
A let down. An understatement.
I dont know why i try to kid myself. I dont know why i bother. With anything. With me.
I suppose i do it because you would have wanted it that way. Lord knows i let you down enough. I failed you. Us.
I sometimes wish I'd never met you, Anne. I wish I'd never looked into your eyes. Never saw your beautiful smile.
Wish in one hand...
I know that i was wrong for you. It wasnt you (though you shouldered the blame often). It was me.
It was always me. Always my fault. Always letting you down.
I'm sorry for that. I wish i could make it up to you.
I dont think i can.
How dare i have professed my love for you and then failed. How dare i have set such lofty goals and then given up.
How dare i walk this earth after my disgrace.
I wont live forever. But i will hold to my shame and remember my failure until the day i die. Until the day my body catches up to my soul.
No one can replace you. And no girl that i meet out on the town can compare.
I had you for a spell. I'll let that be enough.
I love you, Anne. You and no other. I always did. And I'm sorry i wasnt able to live up to that.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Escape
Escape
I've escaped into the silence
And no one follows me.
For deep inside the cold, cold earth
Is where I rest, you see.
So thank you dear
For all your love
I was your favorite, you were my best
And it's over now for me my dear
I've been ruined for the rest.
I've escaped into the silence
And no one follows me.
For deep inside the cold, cold earth
Is where I rest, you see.
So thank you dear
For all your love
I was your favorite, you were my best
And it's over now for me my dear
I've been ruined for the rest.
Just something that made me think
Not a story or anything here. Just thought it was interesting because today I ran a Google Images search on my name (yeah, I'm one of those people). I was in for a pleasant surprise.
When I run a search on my name, I typically use "Warren P Abbott". This time, however, I used just "Warren Abbott". Interestingly enough, my picture was there. Even more interesting was who was pictured next to me.
My Grandfather, also Warren was there, smiling. I can't recall off-hand which of us was higher up on the search listing, nor do I care. I just think it was neat because lately I've felt like I needed something like that.
I'm doing alright, but I could be doing much better. I feel like nothing is right, but that's just the chemical imbalance, I reckon. When I take the time to take stock of what is happening in my life and what I have, I know I'm doing pretty well.
Still, I could do with out some of the thoughts that have been running through my head. I could have done with out a lot of things in my life.
When I run a search on my name, I typically use "Warren P Abbott". This time, however, I used just "Warren Abbott". Interestingly enough, my picture was there. Even more interesting was who was pictured next to me.
My Grandfather, also Warren was there, smiling. I can't recall off-hand which of us was higher up on the search listing, nor do I care. I just think it was neat because lately I've felt like I needed something like that.
I'm doing alright, but I could be doing much better. I feel like nothing is right, but that's just the chemical imbalance, I reckon. When I take the time to take stock of what is happening in my life and what I have, I know I'm doing pretty well.
Still, I could do with out some of the thoughts that have been running through my head. I could have done with out a lot of things in my life.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Worship
Alex entered Jack's small apartment. He'd been worried about his old friend and wanted to check on him. He wasn't there.
On the table near the window there was an ashtray filled with partially smoked cigarettes. A half-cup of coffee was next to it, a ring stained on the ceramic told him that it had been there for some time. But neither of these were what interested him.
Because on the table, laying open, was a journal. Jack often left notes for Alex and had done so now.
Alex sat down in the chair, picked up a half-smoke cigarette, lit it up and began to read.
I'm wondering what I'm doing anymore. As I write this the question comes once again - why am I still alive? What is my purpose?
I continue to aid others. Yet, the old phrase, "physician, heal thyself" is ever present. What has become of me and what am I to do when I am confronted with the emptiness that is me?
When a glass is half empty you can fill it with water. But what can fill a lingering emptiness such as mine? Thoughts, words or deeds?
All are insufficient. All of it is falling short.
I can only hope that my birth has a purpose. Perhaps someday my offspring will do something that will make an impact. Something that I can not.
Perhaps that is my only reason for being. The reason God chose to let a flat-line infant have a pulse once again. Perhaps that is why, though uncertain of any grand plan, i carry on.
Perhaps God was wrong about me. Anne was, and I worshiped her.
The note ended there. Alex finished the cigarette, exhaling the last of it as he spoke. "Oh, Jack. What am I going to do with you?"
He tore the note from the journal, crumpled it up. He stood, mentally exhausted, and walked out of the apartment, tossing the note into a dumpster as he passed by.
He would have to be more vigilant now. Jack was getting worse.
On the table near the window there was an ashtray filled with partially smoked cigarettes. A half-cup of coffee was next to it, a ring stained on the ceramic told him that it had been there for some time. But neither of these were what interested him.
Because on the table, laying open, was a journal. Jack often left notes for Alex and had done so now.
Alex sat down in the chair, picked up a half-smoke cigarette, lit it up and began to read.
I'm wondering what I'm doing anymore. As I write this the question comes once again - why am I still alive? What is my purpose?
I continue to aid others. Yet, the old phrase, "physician, heal thyself" is ever present. What has become of me and what am I to do when I am confronted with the emptiness that is me?
When a glass is half empty you can fill it with water. But what can fill a lingering emptiness such as mine? Thoughts, words or deeds?
All are insufficient. All of it is falling short.
I can only hope that my birth has a purpose. Perhaps someday my offspring will do something that will make an impact. Something that I can not.
Perhaps that is my only reason for being. The reason God chose to let a flat-line infant have a pulse once again. Perhaps that is why, though uncertain of any grand plan, i carry on.
Perhaps God was wrong about me. Anne was, and I worshiped her.
The note ended there. Alex finished the cigarette, exhaling the last of it as he spoke. "Oh, Jack. What am I going to do with you?"
He tore the note from the journal, crumpled it up. He stood, mentally exhausted, and walked out of the apartment, tossing the note into a dumpster as he passed by.
He would have to be more vigilant now. Jack was getting worse.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Camping
Jack stared at the blank sheet. His mind began to drift. Memories swirled, and the pen seemed to write of its own accord.
I've never slept in this tent without her. Not once.
It was always cozy, her snuggled up against me. My arms wrapped around her. One hand resting on a hip, the other enfolding her, caressing her shoulder.
Sometimes I would kiss her neck while running my thumb over the little mole on the back of her arm. Breathing in the scent of her hair. Absorbing the warmth that radiated from her soft skin.
My heart aches now at how large and empty this tent feels. It may as well be a warehouse.
It stores nothing but memories.
Jack put down the pen. His vacant eyes took in the 9x7 enclosure. It felt like his heart would stop. Or perhaps he only wished it would.
He sigh a shuddering breath as he stared at the spot where she would have slept, cold now that she was no longer there.
"I need to buy a new tent," he sighed.
I've never slept in this tent without her. Not once.
It was always cozy, her snuggled up against me. My arms wrapped around her. One hand resting on a hip, the other enfolding her, caressing her shoulder.
Sometimes I would kiss her neck while running my thumb over the little mole on the back of her arm. Breathing in the scent of her hair. Absorbing the warmth that radiated from her soft skin.
My heart aches now at how large and empty this tent feels. It may as well be a warehouse.
It stores nothing but memories.
Jack put down the pen. His vacant eyes took in the 9x7 enclosure. It felt like his heart would stop. Or perhaps he only wished it would.
He sigh a shuddering breath as he stared at the spot where she would have slept, cold now that she was no longer there.
"I need to buy a new tent," he sighed.
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